Victory, Vigilance, and Sacrifice
by asteracaea
Summary: Karia Tabris, a city elf, finds her world turned upside down when the Grey Warden, Duncan, conscripts her into the Warden's ranks. This is the story of her and her companions as they journey across Ferelden, battling the Blight that threatens it. Review!
1. Chapter 1

Karia Tabris was awoken from her sleep by the sound of soft snoring from the bedroll across the campfire. Campfire? There oughtn't be an open campfire like this in an alienage-the Denerim guards would never approve! And this lumpy excuse for a mattress...was a bedroll? She bolted upright, casting bleary-eyed glances about her. _Oh..._she sighed in relief, recognizing Duncan by the glow of the firelight. That relief, almost instantaneously, was transformed into a dull ache. She wasn't in Denerim anymore. Hazy memories, scattered recollections...the past day seemed as though it had been a long, bad dream. She squinted into the fire, trying to clear her thoughts.

Something had happened before...Shianni had done something, had been drunk...Vaughan was there. His haughty laugh,she remembered, had made her skin crawl; and the disgusting glint in his eyes as he looked upon her beautiful comrades was enough to make one ill. The entire fiasco had been one bad accident after another, turning into a situation completely out of hand. Her cousin had acted out of instinct rather than maliciousness. Vaughan would have pursued farther and perhaps had his way with these women had Shianna not knocked the brute out-cold with that empty wine-bottle.

It seemed that it was the best she could do with what she had... Right?

A bittersweet pang of memory arose from this incident. Karia, for many months, had been betrothed to a complete stranger. They knew practically nothing of each other except that they were engaged. Such an arrangement was not uncommon in the alienage and, even though she had been given no choice, she still had felt a good measure of excitement. This would be the start of a new life for her. It was exciting and terrifying in equal parts. After Vaughen's lackeys had carried him away, she had finally been given the opportunity to meet him, and after doing so, was pleasantly stunned. It was easy, now, to accept the future that had been planned for her. And she did so willingly.

_"I am a lucky man to be so warmly welcomed," Nelaros, her husband-to-be, had murmured privately to her upon their meeting. "I will spend every waking moment learning to making you happy," he promised her. Karia's heart had skipped a beat and she was blushing furiously from this when Soris, her cousin, prodded her to allow their separate fiancés time to prepare for the wedding, which was to take place that very day. She was all nerves and adrenaline. _

_Finally, to have a normal life...or so she thought..._

_No_...Karia glanced at the Grey Warden. _Not normal. **You**_ _came..._Her thoughts were far from accusatory though. Saddened by those past events, and those she knew were yet to come, it would have been so easy to blame him. Yet logic persisted that he had nothing to do with it. And after all he had done to save her-remove her from her fate at Denerim-she could not possibly be so unkind. 

_He knew my mother...respected her, even..._It was unthinkable to blame the man who thought so highly of the mother she adored and barely knew. Although he was a human, he had treated her equal to him, praised her skill, and her courage. Perhaps she could be considered weak, but she found nothing with which she could fault Duncan. He was as much of a victim of circumstance as she. Karia trusted him.

The day had turned worse from there, remembered Karia, when Bann Vaughan and his ruffians had returned...

_"I won't let them take you!" Nelaros declared, standing solidly in front of her. She was so frightened. There appeared to be no escape, this time. A scuffle ensued as the Arl of Denerim's son forced his way forward. He stopped in front of the young elf, towering over him, making the blond man seem as though he were a child in comparison. Karia placed a small hand on her betrothed's shoulder. _

_"I will go with him," she whispered, "I will be fine."_

_"Absolutely not!" he hissed._

_Vaughan was talking but Karia was not inclined to listen. She waited until he had closed his mouth before she spoke again, "You may take me but let the others go."_

_"Well, that wouldn't be much of a party, now, would it?" he sneered at her. Nelaros could take no more. He lunged at the young lord, but Vaughan swatted him aside as though he were a fly, and backhanded Karia when she tried to rush to the aid of her protector. Her head swam with pain, and then...there was darkness..._

She grasped her sore head, now. Things were still very unclear_._ She remembered waking in the dungeonand witnessing the cold-blooded murder of the Chantry sister when she resisted the guards. Sight of her blood staining the stony floor still made Karia shiver. She pulled her blanket further over her head and sorted through some more memories. Most of those memories she chose to ignore. Blood, death, pain...these things were not to be dwelt upon, but neither could they be ignored...not that kind of pain.

Karia wiped a tear from her eye, _Oh, yes...there was much pain._

_"Nelaros!" shouted Soris, seeing his companion across the room. Too late, he realized, for as he called, the blond elf fell backwards on the hard floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. They were too late. She entered the room then and, upon seeing him, screamed at the castle guards,_

_"You killed Nelaros!" and she rushed them, her borrowed sword brandished high, blood running down the blade and dripping off the cross guard and onto the floor. The battle was heated but over quickly. As the last man fell, she turned her tear-stained face to Soris, who was leaning over his friend._

_"He...He is dead..." he groaned, "Oh, Nelaros, I am so sorry..."_

_For long moments, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Here was a man she had only met a few brief hours ago, lying dead in a human castle, "He died to save me," and she realized that this meant more to her than anything anyone had ever done for her. She knew instinctively that she could have fallen in love with this man-this caring, sweet, and brave man. He had made the elves proud. She refused to let him die in vain. _

And she hoped she had not. Shianni and the others had been rescued-clearly roughed up-but still whole. But what did she have to show for it? If Duncan had not been there; if he had not conscripted her...where would she be? It was a horrible thought and quickly she put it aside, lest her resolve break. Gingerly, she leaned over to where she had set her pack and reached into a small, closed pocket. It was not long before she removed a velvet parcel of cloth and, with trembling hands, unwound it.

Lying within its folds was silver wedding ring.

Karia bit her lip to muffle the sobs that were racking her body. She slipped it onto her left ring finger, nearly gasping in astonishment when she found it a perfect fit. This was the ring Nelaros had planned to present her that day. Now he would never have the chance.

Karia struggled within herself as to what to do with the ring. It represented the life she could have had. The love that could have been. She had been so focused on her thoughts that she did not notice when Duncan rose from the fire and came to kneel beside her.

"Sentiment can be a powerful weapon, Karia,"

She caught her breath in surprise, her head snapping up and her tear-filled eyes focusing on his deep brown ones. After a moment, she nodded her agreement and gazed again at the ring once more.

Duncan sat down, stretching his long legs out. He sighed deeply and leaned back on his palms, staring in silent contemplation at the stars through the wisps of smoke from the campfire. He knew she would talk when she was ready. Nearly a half hour passed before she was calm enough to speak to him,

"It is never going to be the same for me, is it, Duncan?" she stated her question more than asked. He glanced at her and nodded an affirmative, while she continued, "I mean, there is no going back?"

"No, my dear," he said. "There is only forward."

Karia swallowed hard and nodded, "I gladly join your order. The Grey Wardens have my respect and I am honored to be considered a candidate, even though it was revealed under...under such circumstances," she was choosing her words carefully, still sorting the facts out in her mind.

Duncan was moved with sympathy and respect for this little elf's courage. Her quiet world had been turned upside down and shredded into a million pieces, yet she had accepted it and had not lashed out in anger, nor was she blaming anyone. Several more moments of deep silence ensued before, finally, she continued, "I can't keep this, then," she held out the ring. "By your own admission, you said sentiment is a powerful weapon...but, Duncan," she choked back another sob, "Such a weapon would kill me. If we survive this, then I suspect I shall never _not_ be a Grey Warden. This life," she held up the ring, "is...is only a dream. Am I correct?" The tears were cascading down her cheeks like small rivers.

The Warden sighed, "This is true. You cannot simply stop being a Grey Warden. It would be like a dwarf willing himself to become a Halla," he sought her gaze directly. "It shall never be. You accept this knowing that there is no going back. Not until after the Blight is ended. But even so, Wardens will always have a duty. They shall always be needed," he waited for those words to sink in. "It is a good dream though, Karia, and I would not take it from you."

She shook her head, "It will pull me down. The Chantry in Denerim told a story of a woman who was turned to salt because she could not relinquish her dreams. She looked back at the city she was supposed to be fleeing, and..." the elf girl stopped and held out the silver ring. "Duncan...I give this to you. Will you dispose of it? I do not trust myself to follow through," her voice was barely audible above the crackling of the flames.

He nodded and took the proffered ring. Her luminous emerald eyes rose to meet his, pleadingly, and he found himself feeling wistful that he was not a younger man. With a heavy sigh, he turned and tossed it into the very heart of the fire. Although he doubted that such a fire would damage the valuable metal, he was surprised to see that, only a few minutes later, the roundness of it had elongated, was bubbling, and was quickly losing definable shape. Karia sighed in relief.

"Thank you..." she whispered.

Duncan patted her shoulder tenderly, finding himself praising the Maker that He had allowed this elf to fall into his care-conscripted or not.

She would make a fine Grey Warden one day.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks to Janec Shannon for beta-ing my last two chapters here! And for those of you who have read this. Reviews will be very appreciated! If you couldn't tell already, this is my first time posting on fanfiction, and the plots in Dragon Age are some of my favorites. All right, guys, the second chapter of Victory, Vigilence, and Sacrifice!_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

They had been traveling south for nearly two weeks. Duncan had set a challenging pace and, breathlessly, Karia trailed after him. She had spent these last few weeks asking the Warden every conceivable question about his Order, the Blight, Ferelden, and any other possible subject. He had been surprisingly patient with her—even smiling at her curiosity. From what he surmised, this little elf had never left the confining walls of the Alienage. He smiled in amusement at the thought of how new everything seemed to be for her.

Then, a loud and sudden squeal behind him sent him whirling and drawing his swords instinctively. Blood pumping, heart racing—he half expected to find a small army of darkspawn surrounding them, certain that their endless chatter had distracted him from sensing them. His eyes scanned the area; he already felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through…

Something was not right, for sure. Duncan took a second look around him. Where was Karia? _Oh, Maker, no…_ he thought, fearing the worst. He took a cautious step forward, his brown eyes darting to and fro, assessing the situation in his mind. He had to find her—and quickly!

"Karia!" he called out, "Karia, answer me!"

The squeal came again, "Duncan!" her voice was panicked, "I'm over here!"

His head swiveled immediately towards the sound of her voice and he leaped across the grassy plains towards her general direction. It was not long before he caught a glimpse of her flowing auburn hair amidst the yellowed straw and he quickened his pace to reach her. When he was near enough to see her face, he was surprised to find a wide-eyed look of confusion, rather than fear.

In a low voice, he asked, "Is everything all right? Are you hurt?"

Karia did not even look at him, but continued staring straight ahead of her into the straw. Duncan knelt beside her, shaking her shoulders and wondering what sort of evil power had overtaken her. She shook herself free of his iron grip and pointed straight ahead, "Look, there." She whispered. Warily, he gazed in the direction indicated, but was disappointed to see nothing but tall grass, swaying in the wind.

For a moment, Duncan was more than irritated, _Foolish girl,_ he thought, _Probably has seen a field mouse and—oh, Maker…that's no field mouse…_he caught his breath in his throat as he caught sight of what had startled the elf girl.

Nestled securely in the tall grass, invisible to most eyes, was a young halla, the smallest Duncan had ever seen. His eyes opened wide in surprise and wonder, curious as to why these beautiful creatures had managed to roam so far from their eastern woods in the Brecilian Forest. It was rumored that the Dalish elves had found some refuge in the southern uncharted territories where no man was able to drive them out, but Duncan was not sure if these rumors were entirely accurate or if the halla they revered would even venture into such danger. _The darkspawn will have no fear of those passages…this is probably what has caused them to migrate so far out._

His contemplations were interrupted when Karia whispered, "Duncan…what is this? What is it called?"

"This is a Halla, an elven stag, if you will. In olden times, they would bear elven knights into battle, but are used more, now, to pull the Dalish aravels to different camp sites. They are quite remarkable creatures."

Karia's expression revealed her doubts, "It is too small to carry _anything_. How do they expect—"

Duncan outright laughed, "This is a fawn, Karia. They grow to be much larger than this. In fact, they are much larger than your average deer. Fully grown, a halla has more than enough strength and endurance to carry whatever its keeper intends for it."

She cocked her head a little, "It won't hurt us, then?"

He shook his head, standing, and pulling her up with him, "Not at all, and not if we get underway, now."

Duncan gently grasped her wrist, tugging her along behind him. Ostagar was just over the next ridge and he wanted to reach it before nightfall. Karia kept pace with him and, after her first bout of shock had passed, was back to asking him questions. He groaned inwardly, _What have I gotten myself into?_ But his reaction was not one of irritation as it was resignation. He had not had this kind of fellowship with anyone for several months and had forgotten what it was like to be young and inquisitive—curiosity being an important attribute in a Grey Warden. So, dutifully, he answered as many questions as he could. After all, it helped to pass the time, and some of her thoughts were very entertaining.

Karia glanced over at her tall leader every now and then, trying to determine whether or not her endless questions were irritating him. He showed no outward sign of annoyance and when he responded kindly to her, she was encouraged to ask more. She had never realized just how sheltered her life in the alienage was. Before, everything had seemed so incredibly simple. It was a precarious existence, but it had been her entire life—everything she had ever known was contained in that walled-off section of Denerim. Karia felt as if she were a small toy that had been taken from its box and flung into a giant yard. She was disoriented and insecure and, oh, so helplessly lost. Even the small swordsmanship her mother had taught her seemed insignificant in this great big world.

She walked in silence for some time, focusing on dodging boulders and mole hills. Bright green eyes observed the cloudless, early morning, blue sky, and she smiled when she heard the birds chirping. It felt as though life were almost normal, even though the pang in her heart reminded her that life was very far from ever being the same again.

Duncan was tempted to break her reverie; her silence had given him pause. He was certain she was not out of questions, but when he turned to ask, he saw the old, familiar shadow of pain cross her face and decided it was best to leave her with her own thoughts for now. In any case, it was nice to enjoy the silence and the wind.

The sun had moved only marginally further into the west when Duncan caught sight of his destination: the Tower of Ishal, protruding high into the southern sky, was the tallest landmark in Ostagar. They had finally arrived. Karia had been watching the ground when Duncan called her attention to it. Panting, she looked up and her eyes widened in surprise at the structure. He motioned for her to continue over the small rise of land and, when they reached the top of the hillock, the entire layout of Ostagar came into view.

Karia gasped at the magnanimous structure spread out across the plains. Half of it was guarded by a dense forest, and the rest rose up to look down from a precipitous cliff. The great marble and granite pillars rose hundreds of feet from the ground and the causeways were carved with intricate designs. It was a ruin but a glorious one, indeed.

"Come," said Duncan, interrupting her trance, "We will walk west a bit, and enter Ostagar from the King's Highway."

They did so, covering as much ground as they could. Even as tired as they were, the prospect of completing their mission and ending their journey seemed more appealing than the mercy of a slower pace. Karia, not used to long treks, simply followed Duncan in silence, more concerned with regulating her gasping breaths than anything else. It did not take them long before they were on the paved King's Highway, entering the ruins of Ostagar. Karia was awestruck once again. She looked up at the towers, and kept looking up—they spiraled so high up into the air that she could not even see their peaks. She was so intent on studying these great buildings that she had not noticed the group of soldiers guarding the path before them.

Duncan greeted the tall man in golden armor at the foremost of the group. "My lord," he stammered, "I did not expect—"

"You weren't expecting a royal welcome, Duncan?" the man removed his helmet, and long blond hair fell from its containment. A youthful, mischievous face grinned back at the solemn Grey Warden.

"Er…no, your majesty."

Suddenly, the man's attention was turned to Karia, who was staring at him in open interest, not entirely sure what she was to be doing, or if she was even to be looking at him at all.

"And this is—"

"Yes, Allow me to introduce you to my new recruit." Duncan interjected, sensing her discomfort,

"Ah, there's no need to be so formal." The stranger said, smiling at her, "After all we'll be spilling blood together. I don't see how titles are necessary." He bowed a little, and said, "I'm Cailan. And you are?"

Karia purposefully did not glance at Duncan, sensing it would betray her unease at meeting the King of Ferelden, "I am Karia Tabris."

"Pleasure to meet you!" he shook her hand, his grin broadening, "Where are you from?"

"The alienage in Denerim," she answered simply, relieved that her voice was beginning to sound more confident. It helped that she did not possess so high of a tone in any case. The King's eyes grew wide,

"Denerim! I am also from Denerim! Tell me, how is the alienage? I have often wanted to visit, but, alas, my guards forbade it."

She narrowed her eyes, the pain still too fresh for her, "You really do not know, your majesty?"

Confusion clouded his expression, "What do you mean?"

Duncan intervened, "She was recently involved in a situation that nearly cost her her life and those of her friends as well. The Arl of Denerim's son took her and several others intending to use them. She did what she had to do to rescue them and the Bann is now dead."

King Cailan looked truly mortified, "I had no idea…" he shook his head, his attention turning back to Karia, "I swear, when this is over, that I will personally rectify the wrongs we have done your people. I will take as many steps as necessary to ensure your people are treated with the respect they deserve."

Karia bowed slightly, "Thank you, your majesty." He seemed truly sincere and that thought brought her some measure of hope.

He smiled, pleased, before continuing, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must go. Loghain will want to bore me with more talk of strategies. We've won several battles against the darkspawn already, and we'll win this one as well," he pounded a fist into his hand for emphasis.

The elf girl cocked her head to the side, "You sound very confident of this, my lord."

He chuckled, "A bit _overconfident_ to some, eh Duncan?" he shook his head, "I'm not even sure that this is a real Blight. We haven't caught any sight of any archdemon."

"Disappointed, your majesty?" Duncan asked, pointedly.

King Cailan ignored his tone, smiling to himself, "I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" he chuckled again, "Now, I really must go before Loghain sends out a search party for me. " They two Grey Wardens bid him farewell, before continuing on alone.

Duncan tried to reassure Karia about the battle, but she saw the doubt in his eyes, "You do not seem reassured," she pointed out. He sighed, signaling for her to walk with him, while he explained the situation. She wondered at him, for his ideas seemed well-founded, and with the King's obvious respect for the Grey Wardens seemed reasonable. "What would you have him do?" asked the elf, curious.

"Wait for the Orlesian reinforcements, of course," he said, and before he could expound, she asked one more question,

"And what would you have _me_ do?"

He smiled, "Your time is your own, for now. If you wish to explore the ruins, you may do so. Only the army camp and the Wilds are off limits to you for now. We have until nightfall before we begin your joining, and I would ask that you find another Grey Warden before then—Alistair. After you've found him, come see me, and we'll begin preparations for the Joining."

Her stomach grumbled when he finished his instructions and she shrugged a little, "A good hot meal sounds nice right now, actually."

"That it does." He agreed, "Go on, then, and I shall see you later. You can find me at my campfire in the center if you need anything." With that, Duncan strode away, leaving Karia feeling lost—again.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I will be publishing several chapters all at once here, simply because I am celebrating my new life as a full fledged college student, and also because I won't have as much time to work on this in the future as I did before. So...you'll all have chapters 3 and 4 to read and memorize for a while, and in the meantime, I will be studying and doing this part time. Sorry! Also, concerning the conversations on here: I'm not really following the game too much. So if you're all looking for a story that follows the game, well...tough. This is for the "between the lines" stuff (my story), and I add the character's dialogues for flavor. So if they're not completely accurate, I apologize, but at the same time...it's different. So I don't apologize. It doesn't make sense. ;) I never do. Anyway, enjoy this one, guys! And thanks for reading!_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_  
_

Karia was alone in Ostagar—one of the biggest fortresses built in its time. There were so many different levels to the ruin, different passages within its various levels…she was certain she was going to get lost. In fact, she was so certain, she almost decided to follow Duncan back to his fire and never leave his side. _Well…except that _he_ walked away __first__, _she reminded herself, supposing that it might not be a good idea after all. So what was she to do?

_Find Alistair, _she repeated over and over to herself. _And find something to eat. Yes…food definitely sounds good…_Karia crossed her arms over her stomach, looking about her wistfully. Where was the kitchen here? In Denerim, she would be at the hearth fire…

She wasn't in Denerim anymore, she reminded herself, steeling herself against the thoughts that would otherwise tear her resolve to shreds. There was no good ever brought from dwelling on a past one could not change. Trying to cheer herself up, she reminded herself that she had been chosen as a Grey Warden: a fighter, a hero…

Knowing she wasn't any of those things, she decided it was best to just focus on dinner. But she would have to find it first.

Her unease at being left alone did not last long, however, and she tentatively began wandering around the bustling camp. Everywhere she looked contained signs of hurried preparation. In one corner, she could see what she supposed were mages, guarded by two fierce looking templars. She avoided them completely. Another end of camp harbored the Ash Warriors and their hounds, which was right next to the King's own kennel of war hounds: the mabari. The odor rising from the kennels was enough to make her eyes water—another place she avoided. That left two places for her to explore—the northern ruins, and Duncan's fire. Indulging her freedom, she ambled towards the causeway to the north, past the quartermaster's and another mage's tent.

These paths were dark, silent, and, as Karia discovered upon reaching the top of the causeway, were stretched out in what used to be a massive hall. She let her eyes linger upon the engraved stone columns. Gently, she brushed her fingers across one jagged edge of a toppled pillar, trying to imagine what this place had looked like in its glory days…

Rising over the bustle of the camp below were two male voices, emanating from a level above Karia. Curious, she bounded up the stone ramp towards the sounds, before she could convince herself to do otherwise. Standing in the middle of a large turret were a mage and young warrior, already deeply involved in their argument. She knew she ought to have left them alone, and was beginning to turn to do so, when she caught sight of the young man's armor which she recognized to be similar to Duncan's. "Your glibness does you no credit," the mage threatened, his voice low and menacing.

The young man tilted his head, feigning innocence, "And I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you," his light tone lowered to match the mage's, adding pointedly,"…the grumpy one,"

"All right!" the mage shouted, "I will go see the woman," he darkly muttered something else, before stalking off, nearly running into Karia in the process, "Out of my way, you fool!" he raged, not pausing to even glare at her in his determined stride.

She had lithely stepped out of his way, and was watching the mage leave, when the young man spoke, his tone taking on a more cheery tone, "You know…" he drawled, "One good thing about a Blight is how it brings people together,"

It was a foolish statement, and Karia knew it, but could not help chuckling at him. After witnessing what had passed between him and the other man, she decided to agree, "I know what you mean…"

He went on, enjoying his joke, "It's like a party! We could all stand around and hold hands…" sighing, he noted jokily, "That would give the darkspawn something to think about."

Karia smiled bravely at him, enjoying his humor. Before she could ask him his name, he was already continuing, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You don't happen to be a mage, do you?"

She shook her head, affirming she was definitely not. This piped him to a genuine cheerfulness and he chortled, "Well, that means less getting yelled at for me, although…the day is still young…" the words were drawn out as he looked her over. Karia backed away a step, wary of his intentions. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he began talking again, as boisterously as ever, "I recognize you! You're the new recruit Duncan brought, aren't you?"

"How do you know who I am?" her brows raised in her surprise, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Duncan sent word ahead about you. Talked very highly of you, he did," smiling the young man nodded a greeting, "My name is Alistair,"

"I'm Karia,"

"That's the name! You know, it just struck me that there are not many women in the Grey Wardens…" his brows furrowed in thought, "I wonder why that is?"

Testily, she mused, "Perhaps it is because we are too smart for you,"

He nodded most agreeably, "Perhaps…but if that be the case, what does that make you?"

_Oh…_she groaned inwardly,_ I set myself up for that…_ "Incredibly unlucky," the elf frowned, but not in displeasure.

He laughed his reply, "Ouch," before continuing an introduction, "As the junior member of the Grey Wardens, I will be accompanying you when you prepare for your Joining. Have you met any other recruits yet?"

"Other recruits?"

"Obviously, you haven't," he smirked, teasingly, "One is Daveth, and I think he was around the Quartermaster's tent. The other was Sir Jory…don't know where he disappeared to. But we'll see him later on tonight, I'm sure." Alistair nodded, "Now, we probably should be getting underway. Do you have any questions for me?"

Karia was about to ask him about specifics for the Joining when her stomach growled again. Sheepishly, she asked, "Is there anywhere to have a proper meal?"

With a quirky grin, Alistair gestured for her to walk with him, "I'm not sure if it's what you would call 'proper,' but it is definitely filling. And there is cheese. Good cheese," he muttered, leaving Karia to wonder if he was jesting or not.

He was not kidding about the cheese, after all. She decided after a few bites that if she were to be stranded in the Wilds, that she might be able to survive on this cheese. The beef stew, however, was another story. It was questionable that the beef was really meat at all. But as Alistair said, it was, indeed, filling. For this small blessing, Karia was grateful, though undoubtedly certain she would not be able to stand the taste of one more bite. Washing her mouth out with water and cheese, she followed Alistair to another line.

"Fill up your backpack here," he instructed, "You're eyeing that cheese like it's the last bit of food left in Ferelden."

She blushed, sending him an impish sidelong glance, before packing away a few biscuits and wrapped cheese. He then inspected what was left in the small bag, frowning at its contents, "You need to restock. We'll find you an injury kit and some elfroot before we begin the Joining preparations." He looked her over again, "What kind of weapon do you use?"

This question caught her off guard. _Weapon? _"I…I don't really have a preference…"

Alistair did not expect that response, "Er…what were you trained in? Bow, swords, daggers…you're not a mage, so no magic for you," he attempted a joke.

Karia shrugged noncommittally, "Mostly with a sword and shield, though I prefer archery." At his questioning glance, she decided, "I am more practiced with a sword,"

Finally getting the answer he desired, he smiled, "Great. Come with me. The quartermaster can fit you with a suitable weapon and shield."

He guided her through the busy alleys towards the quartermaster's tent. The grumpy little man eyed Alistair shrewishly, "What is it yer wantin'?"

When Alistair hesitated, Karia stepped from behind him, "I would like to see your weapons, sir."

The man squinted at her, "An elf!"

It was the warrior, now, who spoke, as Karia was duly flustered at the man's exclamation, "A Grey Warden," he corrected him.

He was aghast, "Oh…er…my apologies. You…er…very well, I have a few wares available for sale," he set them out for her inspection. Alistair watched her with some interest, noting how she picked weapons. For all that she appeared to be innocent, she had a keen eye for weapons. She must have had some good training, thought he. Finally, Karia picked a long, thin sword from amidst the bunch of them, twirling it in her hand, balancing the tang and the blade, testing the crossguards, and even remembering the accompanying sheath. She really knew her stuff! She smiled winningly at Alistair and asked the quartermaster for the price. Carelessly looking the blade over, "Ten silvers," was his estimation.

Karia was crestfallen. _That much? Unreasonable._ "Oh…" her voice fell in disappointment, "I really can't spare that much…" her obvious displeasure seemed to have its effect on the man. He was visibly starting to sweat underneath her gaze. He cleared his throat, and mentioned,

"How about one silver, and we'll call it even if you slay a few darkspawn with it?"

But she would have none of it, "I don't want to rob your store!" she protested. However, the quartermaster was already accepting the money from Alistair, who was more than willing to end negotiations there, before the other man changed his mind. She was also given, as part of her recruitment, a new shield. It was small and wooden, but it had the Grey Warden's colors upon it, blue and silver, signifying her place among them. Karia strapped the sword belt around her waist and slung the shield over her shoulder as they were walking away.

It was with renewed interest that the young Warden watched her now. She hadn't even tried to be conniving. She hadn't even wanted to be. Perhaps the quartermaster was just a bigger softie than most gave him credit for being. That was it, he decided. Besides that fact was how inexperienced she seemed. While most of the Wardens were walking around with weapons, she wasn't. She had perpetual look of wonder and interest, and her direct gaze seemed to be searching you, questioning, delving...If he didn't know any better, he would have suspected her to have never left her house-and now was suddenly thrust into the heat of things. Alistair shook his head. _Nonsense..._ But, Duncan did choose her. At least _he_ saw something about her that apparently was hidden from the rest of the world. What it was, Alistair did not know.

At the same time, Karia was appraising her fellow Grey Warden. Since her experience in Denerim, she hadn't felt much trust for humans of any kind. While this man was a Grey Warden, it did not especially mean that his moral compass was pointed due north. He seemed harmless enough, she supposed. And Duncan had not spoken ill of him. With an inward sigh, she realized that after tonight, they would be together, part of their own separate group. It would be best for her to begin to trust these people now. It was the logical thing to do. Her life would be in his hands and others' hands throughout their journeys. If she could not trust him in a small task, now…then later…_That would just be an epic failure!_ she thought to herself. _But all the same..._

Well, it was worth a try.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Ok...here we go. :) The Wilds! I will warn those of you reading that this is going to be a long series. Quite long. After all, this is chapter 4 and they...well, you'll see. :) Comments appreciated. There is a lot of description in my works, and not as much talking. Again, for the talking-it differs from __the game__. So please don't be too disappointed. The plot is the same though, but, again, it reveals the relationships and the actions you can't see on the game. Baha! It's magic! ;) All right, you're probably sick of my talking. To the story! Chapter 4, enjoy!_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Alistair led Karia back to Duncan's campfire immediately after they had restocked her supplies, and then left them to summon the other two recruits. When they arrived, there were brief introductions before Duncan began to explain why they had been gathered,

"The Joining requires some preparation which will involve you risking the Korcari Wilds. There are two things you must gather. First, you will need to acquire three vials of darkspawn blood."

When none of the others spoke, Karia nodded an acknowledgment, "What is the second task?"

Duncan explained about an ancient treatise, summoning Dwarves, Elves, Men, and Mages to come to the aid of the Grey Wardens during a Blight, and that those treaties were hidden in an old tower in the ruins, somewhere in the Korcari Wilds. Karia nodded her assent at this as well, "I understand. Three vials of darkspawn blood and the treaty." Very little was said after that aside from Duncan admonishing Alistair to keep his charges safe. Dutifully and unquestioningly, the young man accepted his responsibility. They said no more to each other.

The two men, Ser Jory and Daveth, seemed ill at ease about entering the Wilds. They spoke of monsters and of demons and of witches. Their fear was evident in both their nervous, jerky mannerisms and their eyes, darting back and forth with rapidity only adrenaline could provide. Karia had not heard the stories that they whispered of when the deep shadows of the woods reached out to them. She knew nothing of the wraiths they claimed would appear from the deeps and draw screaming souls down to the depths with them. She had not heard of them; she had not witnessed these events; she found no basis to believe them, and therefore did not fear them as they did. Superstition was as useless to her as the past. It had no basis, no source of value, and therefore should not be dwelled upon.

Alistair watched her as she took point, leading their small group into the forbidding wilderness. Normally, it would have been his place to take, but this little elf sensed their hesitation and unquestioningly took lead. It was the manner in which she did so that baffled him. Her manner did not show that she assumed leadership-he doubted she even had the desire to. If anything, it was a sign of encouragement to her fellow recruits—a sign that the Wilds could be traversed. She did not order, she guided. He was content to leave the group this way, certain that she would handle authority better than he. At this, he snorted to himself in admission, _That elf is barely a __wisp__ of a girl and appears much braver than I...it's sad, really._

They entered the Korcari Wilds at a cautiously slow pace. Karia did not know the territory and was deliberately taking time to observe the surroundings. They would have to return this way when they had completed their tasks, and she was unwilling to remain in this dark forest any longer than was necessary.

The air surrounding them was so thick from the swamplands that it seemed as though it could be sliced with a knife. Sunken ruins were scattered helter-skelter across the visible ground, and that was just of what they could see. She was sure that within the bubbling mire surrounding them that more of what used to be the Grey Warden's territory was buried and preserved beneath the murky surfaces of the swamp. More feral than anything they had ever heard were the sounds emanating from the surrounding swamp. Even the chirping crickets seemed to possess some malevolence in their scraping calls. The owls hooted in spiteful tones, while in the distance she could hear the discordant howls of wolves at hunt…

_Wolves?_

Karia halted midstride, backing up a few paces. The other recruits glanced at her, feeling anxious enough without _her_ sudden movements. Listening to the wind, trying to determine their distance, she kept completely still, trying not to make any sound. They were directly ahead of the group only by a few hundred yards. Their intermittent slinking caught her eye and Karia glanced at Alistair, a raised hand indicating the wolves' position. He nodded and drew his sword. Daveth, seeing the Warden arm himself, unslung his bow, notching and arrow; Ser Jory drew his greatsword, his eyes darting at random intervals to try to identify the threat.

Taking a step forward, Karia braced herself as the wolves caught sight of their movements and charged them with bloodthirsty wails. She raised her shield, setting her feet in a wide stance, and posed her sword for a killing blow. It was hardly a small pack—eight, maybe nine—that attacked them. Daveth's arrows managed to stop the first two, but the bulk of them rushed into the three swordsmen. Karia was unprepared for the force with which they came, falling backwards when the first wolf to reach her lunged forward onto her shield. It was sheer luck that she still had the presence of mind to thrust out her sword into her attacker. The wolf was dead, but its weight bore down on her body, trapping her, even as another wolf charged upon her. Her eyes grew wide. With her sword still stuck deep within the dead one's throat, and her shield arm pinned, she was defenseless. Karia shut her eyes tightly, waiting to feel its jaws close around her throat.

Alistair had not seen her go down, at least, not immediately. He and Jory had taken defensive positions in front of her, with Daveth still at the side shooting arrows where he could. Alistair had just slain a second wolf when he saw Karia. Well, he hadn't seen _her_, but the wolf lunging at her. At first, he had thought the beast was lunging for Daveth, therefore he darted to intercept them. His sword sliced through the wolf's pelt into its midsection, killing it instantly. It had been the last of them.

_That_ was when he saw her.

"Maker's breath!" he cried, dropping to his knees, trying to roll the wolf off of what he suspected was a dead recruit. Karia opened one eye, hesitently, then opening the other when she realized she _wasn't_ being eaten by a vicious animal. Alistair and the other recruits sighed in relief, "I thought…" he shook his head, gaining his composure, "Are you all right? Have you been bitten anywhere?"

She was trembling, but confirmed with him that she was otherwise unharmed. The young Warden released another breath, "What happened?"

After she explained her story, Ser Jory helped her to her feet, "You're all right, though? That's good. We really need to get moving. I hate this place," he shivered.

Alistair stood as well, seeming to see her for the first time. _She had fallen?_ To him, the wolves were nothing more than big dogs, but in comparison to him, Karia was so…slight. Standing beside each other, she barely reached his shoulder; and judging how thin she was, he was surprised to know she had been able to kill _one_ wolf without it devouring her whole. He was tempted to disapprove, but after observing how she held herself afterwards, refusing to be coddled, and resuming her place as guide, he couldn't help but feeling some admiration for her courage. Though, he would have to keep a better eye on her, he promised himself.

Karia was embarrassed. She was more than embarrassed—she was humiliated. One wolf had been enough to disable her in her first fight as a recruit. What had Duncan been thinking? She couldn't do this. Glancing surreptitiously over at Alistair, she thought she read disapproval in his eyes. Inwardly, she felt her insides turning. He was just one more person in a growing list of people she was failing—beginning with Nelaros, and her mother, and Shianni, and Duncan…

_Stop it Karia…you have a mission to focus on. You can think about this later._ Determinedly, she lifted her head and strode boldly forward. The others followed suit.

They had not gone very far when Alistair stopped them. No sooner had he done so when a dark, bloodstained arrow shot into the ground in front of them. Startled, the group of them hastened backwards, out of the immediate range of the archer. Karia swallowed hard, searching the area in front of her. Where were they? _What_ were they?

"Darkspawn," Alistair whispered as if in answer to her thoughts, adjusting his grip on his sword, swinging it testily.

Karia's head was reeling. _Darkspawn? _She spotted the archers on top of a hill and she motioned at Daveth, pointing out their position, "The archers are up there. Can you see them?"

"Aye, I can." He said, squinting to see them from the distance, "But what about the big ones beneath them with swords?"

Alistair spoke, then, "We three can take them out; you'll have to cover us,"

Karia waited until Daveth had shot his first arrow before signaling the charge. As they approached, she saw one of the darkspawn archers topple off the cliff, gurgling in pain from an arrow to its throat. That left two others on the hill, still shooting at them. Worse, yet, were the three darkspawn swordsmen lumbering towards them. The elf girl's eyes widened in horror at the sight of them. Darkspawn were the vilest creatures one could ever possibly imagine. Their faces were twisted, rotting bits of mutilated, putrid flesh. Stained, fanged teeth protruded from snarling mouths, and their maniacal eyes were wide with an unmistakable blood lust. These creatures were the epitome of evil.

Karia stopped short of the hulking monster before her. It roared at her, swinging a heavy greatsword sideways at her head. She ducked, backing away some more. Furiously, it followed, swinging wildly and with no determinable pattern. She brought her shield up to block an especially accurate blow. It glanced off her shield, sending the shock traveling up the length up her arm and vibrating in her jaw. So intense was the blow that it numbed all feeling from her fingertips to her shoulder temporarily. Trying to retain her balance, she stepped back some more. By the next time the monster swung at her, Karia had formulated her counter-attack. She stepped nimbly aside, spinning around to its back, heaving her shield into its shoulder, and implanting her sword deeply into its exposed back. The darkspawn screamed in pain and crashed to its knees, its horrid mouth still open wide when it finally toppled over and died.

Karia felt sick after the monster's dying display, but she swallowed her nausea back when she remembered the others. She glanced around hurriedly, to be sure her companions were safe. Daveth was jogging towards them now that the darkspawn archers on the hill were eliminated. Ser Jory was cleaning his blade, and Alistair…

"Here," he said from behind her. She whirled to face him, still acting , "The last vial. Go ahead and fill it."

Trembling fingers reached for the small glass. Uncorking, the bottle, she knelt beside the prone darkspawn Hurlock, letting the gooey ichor from its wound drain into the vial. When it was full, she corked it and handed it back to Alistair who grimly placed it in his pack.

"We should eat before heading out for those treaties." He suggested, and the look on her face in response, even amidst the carnage, was enough to make Alistair grin, "Oh, c'mon. You'll feel better after you eat, I promise. Besides, we're going to need the energy."

Ser Jory, on the other hand, was in a foul mood. Looking about him, he saw several bodies of soldiers mingled with those of the darkspawn littered across the clearing, "Look at this—they had no chance!" he cried, flinging his arms out in a dramatic gesture, "These monsters—from the looks of it, they just popped out of the ground! What chance do we have that's better than any of theirs? They've sent us out here on a fool's errand. I say we turn back now! It's a frightful forest!"

Karia had watched him with curiosity. When he had finished his rant, she answered him quietly, "Overcoming this fear is part of our test," It troubled her that he lost faith so quickly. Duncan had taught her many things in their short travels, and one was that a Grey Warden's existence was built on danger. It was a fact. Fear was going to be a part of facing danger, and therefore overcoming fear was the next step in survival. They were all afraid. But it was not reasonable to allow it to hinder their quest. Not when they had come so far already.

"Even so…" he had grumbled. Alistair interrupted before he could continue and raised his hands, patting the air in a pacifying manner,

"Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to sense when Darkspawn are near. That is why Duncan sent me with you, to help alert you to them,"

"See, Ser Knight," Daveth quipped, "We may die, but at least we'll know about it first."

The other man threw up his hands in defeat, relinquishing his argument.

Karia turned to the Junior Grey Warden, "Can you tell me anything about where we can find those treaties?"

"Absolutely not!" he shook his head, "I haven't eaten yet!"


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for the extended delay! College has kept me busier than I ever could have imagined to be possible! Here is chapter 5, which is a bit longer than the others. I know it won't make up for the huge gap, but thanks to those of you who are still reading! Enjoy chapter 5...the Ruins..._

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

The recruits, after a very brief and _very_ quiet meal, finally began the search for the Grey Warden's missing treaties. Karia found herself at point, again, and did not hesitate as she trudged through the Korcari Wilds. The further in that the party went the less scary she found the various noises to be, though the effect seemed to be opposite for the other two recruits following her. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she was just becoming accustomed to the sounds. Perhaps she was simply exhausted, which was more likely the reason than the former.

Alistair touched her shoulder to get her attention, "Look east a bit on that hill. Do you see the ruins?" when she nodded, he continued, "I think that the treaties might be in there. There certainly aren't anymore towers around, other than that. At least, towers that aren't in the middle of the swamp."

In spite of the danger and the worry, Karia couldn't help but grin a little.

It was a short trek to the top of the tower as it was already beginning to settle within the quagmire around it. Alistair stopped them suddenly to rally them when he sensed a small party of darkspawn guarding the open tower turret. Again, Daveth focused on eliminating the archers while the bulk of the fighting was left to melee weapons among the other three Wardens. Karia followed behind Alistair, having learned from her last battle not to dive into the heat of it. Using Alistair as somewhat of a shield, she sprang out from behind him at the nearest Genlock, hewing it down efficiently, and moving on to the next small one while the men tackled the larger beasts.

The little one that she chose, however, was no ordinary genlock. The armor it wore bore indication that it was of a higher "rank," if darkspawn even had such a system. Bloodthirsty eyes, showed signs of minor intelligence, and the weapons it used were of no ordinary iron, but red iron, proven stronger and more effective in battle. Karia stepped back just in time to avoid a cut across her middle. Her light armor was no match for its accurate striking. For a few moments, she panicked. The beast was advancing rapidly and there was no help to be found from her comrades, already overwhelmed by another swarm of them that had been lurking in the tower's shadow. She raised her sword just in time to deflect another blow. The clash of metal on metal rang painfully in her ears, and the genlock's next blow threw her off balance.

Karia's mind raced and her heart beat madly with fear. _Not again! What do I do?_ Scrambling, she swung outward to keep it at bay, but to no avail. It dodged her weak swipe and thrust the point of its sword forward. Screaming, she rolled to one side, her heart skipping a beat when she felt the wind from the weapon grazing her ear. Desperation was beginning to take over her reflexes and the little elf viciously arced her weapon at the genlock, hoping to hit something solid. It swung into the side of the genlock's greaves, but did little damage as the blade had hit it with its flat edge. It did, however, give her enough time to scramble to her feet, steadying herself for the next round of blows.

By this time, Alistair had finished dispatching his current opponent-an especially burly hurlock. It fell dead to the ground just as Karia screamed behind him. He turned to see her rolling, avoiding the sword strike from a Genlock Emissary-a dangerous, conniving darkspawn. Worry bit into his heart for the new recruit and he ran to intercept them when another monster reached out, tackling into him and knocking him to the ground. _Oh Maker! I won't reach her in time!_ he thought as he wrestled with the foul darkspawn. The dagger in its hand sliced his arm as he reached to pin it and Alistair cried out in rage and pain, using the reserve of his strength to capture both of its bloody hands, wresting the knife from its clammy fingers and slitting its throat.

The elf girl defended herself as best she could as the little genlock swung at her repeatedly. She was accumulating various cuts and bruises along her arms and on her side where she had fallen earlier. Her body was exhausted and she was running purely on adrenaline-but adrenaline is hardly enough to survive against a sword. The genlock thrust forward again, knocking the blade from her hands. Karia gasped, stepping backwards into a stone and tripping. Before she could react, the darkspawn raced toward her intent on finishing her off. She grasped the nearest thing she could find, knowing he sword was too far away to be of any use. A thick stone was nearby, however, and she grasped it, jamming it square into the monster's face, causing it to tumble to its knees. That was all the time she needed. She dashed for her sword and turned in a wide circle to slice through her enemy's neck, killing it instantly.

Karia shuddered in disgust when she wiped the thick, deleterious blood from her sword into the sparse grass, shaking from exhaustion and fear. It took her a few moments to steady her hands enough to slide the blade back into its sheath, and even longer for her to calm her rattled breaths. Alistair rushed towards her, checking her over,

"What happened?" he then noted the deep gashes on her arm. "Sit down. You're bleeding."

For the first time, Karia noticed the wounds and her eyes grew wide in surprise and sudden excruciating pain. She obeyed the man and sat down while he fumbled through his pack for a healing poultice and bandages. Gently, he cleaned the blood and grime from around the wound, applying the salve immediately. Karia bit her lip, trying not to cry out. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she bravely endured the treatment. This was not lost to Alistair. _She's a brave one, I'll give her that. Taking on an emissary! Oh, too tight on the bandage, you idiot, she flinched..._ he took a deep breath as he concentrated on wrapping her arms with the cloth, _I'll make it a point to train her when she has completed the Joining..._if_ she survives, that is..._ a cold shudder ran through his body as he thought of the possibility that..._no, stop it, Alistair. Look, you twisted the bandage, you fool!_ He cleared his thoughts, finishing bandaging her arms. The cool healing effects from the salve were already taking effect on her cuts, numbing them and making the pain bearable. She nodded her thanks to him, still unable to speak. His face softened and he smiled at her, "I'm glad you're all right—or at least, you _will_ be." He winked at her, but then glanced away as he cleared his throat awkwardly, not quite able to look too deeply into her emerald eyes, lest he get lost and stare. He made a motion for the other two to join them. Daveth was looting money off of the dead bodies, and Ser Jory had been scouting the perimeter to ensure that no more of the darkspawn would jump out at them unawares.

Taking point, now, Alistair led them into the ruined tower, sword drawn, eyes alert, body tense. With great trepidation, the three other Wardens followed them.

The walls of the old tower, crumbling from hundreds of years of silent vigil, loomed above them ominously. The dark shadows danced evilly, playing upon their imaginations, and extorting their worst fears. Unconsciously, Karia drew closer to the Grey Warden beside her and darted her green eyes back and forth across the overgrown stone clearing. Alistair pointed ahead across the way from their position at a little chest, hidden by vines and years of accumulated dust.

"Look there. That must be it."

The four of them hastened towards it, and Alistair, expecting more of a fight with the lock, was surprised when the lid lifted for him easily, the lock already broken. His brows furrowed in consternation as he knelt to inspect it further. A brief search indicated that the documents were gone, leaving only a few small unimportant trinkets gathering dust at the bottom. _Gone! We're too late! _He angrily pounded his fist against the splintering wood. He glanced quickly around him, hoping that perhaps there was another chest, a hidden chamber somewhere. He was about to mention this to the group but as he opened his mouth to speak, another voice resonated through the blackness,

"Well, well, well…what do we have here?"

Through the growing darkness and the mist from the swamps, the party could discern another figure coming towards them.

"What are you then? Are you vultures? Picking away at bones that have been long since cleaned?" the haughty tone was not lost the four warriors, "Or are you merely scavengers, come into these Darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" When none offered an immediate answer, the tone rose, demanding, "Well, what say you? Scavenger or intruder?"

Alistair bristled, annoyed at being caught off guard, "We are neither. We are Grey Wardens and they control this tower."

"'Tis a tower no longer," the figure waved her arms about her, as if to emphasize her point, "The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse." There was a pause, as if she waited a response, but it was not forthcoming. Finally, she continued, "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?'" The woman stepped from her position and moved forward into a more lighted section and Karia could see her…interesting attire. She wore her jet black hair short, and pinned up in a ragged bun in the back. Her robes were revealing, but practical, with pouches for herbs and spices. A large black staff protruded from behind her, identifying her as a mage, or rather, an apostate.

Alistair muttered under his breath to Karia, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, "Don't answer her. She may be Chasind—and others could be nearby,"

The woman actually laughed at his statement, "Ah, so you fear the barbarians will swoop down from the sky upon you!" dramatic hand motions acted out her sarcastic taunting, and Alistair's lips curled into a venomous snarl,

"Yes…" he drawled, not even bothering to disguise his disapprobation, "swooping is bad…"

Daveth tugged in alarm at Karia's jerkin, "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Fearful eyes stared up at the women before him. Her cool demeanor caused him to quake to the very depths of his soul, "She'll turn us all into toads!"

The woman was not impressed, "Such idle fancies. Have you no minds of your own?" She cocked her head, turning her attention to Karia, "You there—women do not frighten like little boys do." Her stance shifted and her voice became testy, "Tell me your name and I will tell you mine,"

Daveth spit on the ground, "Don't do it! Don't tell 'er!" In the background, Karia could hear Ser Jory murmuring a prayer. Their fear may have been warranted, but one could not know that for sure…at least, not until one tested the waters. The woman did not seem…hostile. Antagonistic, yes. Lethal, no.

Unflinching, the elf girl said, "You may call me Karia…"

The witch seemed to approve, "And _you_ may call _me_ Morrigan, if you wish." The approval disappeared quickly, and the stern annoyance returned, "Shall I guess your purpose?" she smiled without warmth at Alistair, "You sought something in that chest. Something that no longer exists?"

He pointed a finger at her, "I knew it! You stole them, didn't you! You're some sort of…sneaky...witch-thief!" the moment he said it, he knew he had made a fool of himself and he blushed when the witch laughed. Karia, in his defense, silently drew closer. The support made him feel partially less juvenile than he felt…at least.

Morrigan sarcastically retorted, "How very eloquent. Now, tell me, Warden, how does one steal from dead men?"

He growled back at her, "Quite easily, it appears…" Alistair was more than ready to pick a fight with her, his pride injured and his duty threatened considerably. _This is how she has survived—that tongue of hers…the darkspawn don't even want to deal with it…_Gathering his presence of mind, he raised his voice threateningly, "Those documents are Grey Warden property! And I suggest," though the tone of his voice indicated that he demanded, "that you return them."

Morrigan frowned, "I will not!" she crossed her arms as if completely affronted, "For 'twas not I who removed them." To further incite the man's anger, she huffed, "Invoke a name that means nothing here—_I _am not threatened."

Alistair was ready to pounce. In the short time that the apostate had been talking, he had drawn his sword and had readied his shield. Karia placed a restraining hand on his arm, whispering to him, "I want to hear what she has to say…" before facing the woman again and raising her voice for her to hear, "Then if not you, who took the papers?"

"'Twas, in fact, my mother…"

"Can you take us to her?"

Laughing, Morrigan said, "Ah, the practical one. I like you," she smiled, the harshness of it making Ser Jory and Daveth cringe, "Follow me, if it pleases you,"

Alistair touched Karia's arm before she could walk away, "Are you sure about this? She's a bit…creepy. First it's 'I like you' and then _zap_!" he snapped his fingers for effect, "It's frog time."

"Creepy or not, she has those documents." She added quietly, choosing to ignore his intended joke.

"Actually, her mother dearest has them. I personally think it's a ruse. She'll probably have us jump into a cauldron of boiling hot water to get it." As an afterthought, he said, "How do you suppose we'd taste mixed with lemon and salt?"

"If it's any consolation, Alistair, I highly doubt she'd want to eat you. You'd taste like cheese."

"Yes, I'd taste much too good for her." He chortled humorlessly. Morrigan eyed them suspiciously, but kept the group walking forward into heart of the wilds.

Karia deafened herself to the whispers of fright and warning coming from Daveth and Ser Jory, forcing herself to believe that the tales they spoke of were nothing but superstitious bedtime stories—yarns spun in order to keep children fearful enough to obey. She had been a child once and had believed such nonsense. But that was a very long time ago.

Alistair's eyes searched the surroundings thoroughly, marking certain areas, noting certain landmarks. He trusted Karia's decision, however unfounded it seemed at the time. It had always been easier for him to support a cause then lead one, and this instance was no different than before. It should have bothered him, he thought, to be led so easily by a woman. But reminding him that she was a grey warden just as he was numbed the injured pride significantly. But what kind of a Grey Warden trusted an apostate to lead them to its house—especially an apostate that lived in the wilds like the infamous witch of the wilds? Shaking his head against the screams of doubts, the young Grey Warden focused his energy on protecting his "leader." She would need to know the way out of this madness if they survived…

Again, Alistair shook his head and murmured to one of the men, "You know that you're having a bad day when you attach 'if you survive' at the end of your daily 'to-do' list…"

Daveth grinned, "True. And you know you've been close to death one too many times when you would _rather have_ a to-do list than anything else in the world."

It was not a far distance they traveled before Morrigan broke through a dense copse into a clearing, and just on the other side, settled next to a large portion of the swamp, was the witch's hut. Karia glanced back at Alistair, checking for his reaction. His eyes had narrowed and he was scrutinizing the building with serious distaste and suspicion. This reaction did not make her feel any more secure after seeing Ser Jory and Daveth, also eyeing it suspiciously on top of the fact that they were both trembling uncontrollably. "What have I gotten us into?" she questioned herself, swallowing hard and timidly trailing after the mysterious woman.

Alistair watched the young elf with curiosity bordering wonder. The fearless stride she took, following the malevolent apostate gave him pause. As a Templar, he had been trained to hunt and destroy apostates, not trust them, nor allow them to lead them into deep forests, or towards a mage's hermitage. It would normally have been a trap. But Karia—this undaunted elf—seemed to have no problem committing her life into this stranger's hands. It both worried and awed him at the same time, not sure quite what to do with her. He wanted to ask her about her plan, or even if she had one, but just as the thought occurred to him, they reached the front door to the broken down shack that Morrigan called home.

The dark witch strode forward, her nonchalant voice carrying to an old woman leaning against the rickety walls of the hut, "Mother, I have brought visitors."

"I can see them well enough," snapped the hag, staring the small group down with piercing eyes, "We have been watching you for some time now, Grey Warden."

Taken aback completely, the little elf found she had no answer to this. _Watching us? They know of our mission…could they be helping the darkspawn?_ _They certainly have not been helping us…_ Karia cocked her head to the side as an acknowledgment of the woman's statement. It was enough for the elder witch.

"Watching us?" Alistair's voice was thick with malice, "I demand that you return the papers you stole from the Grey Warden's tower,"

Daveth cried out in alarm when the old woman shuffled closer, "No! She's a witch of the wilds! We shouldn't even be talking to her!"

"Be quiet, Daveth!" Ser Jory hissed at his companion, "If she is indeed a witch, it will do us no good making her mad,"

The old woman shot a severe glance in their direction, "A very wise decision, young man…" But when Alistair, ruffled at the exchange, questioned again about the documents, the old woman huffed in irritation, lifting her chin resolutely higher, "I stole nothing, young man. I _did_ take those papers…" and saucily she lifted one eyebrow, "and I _preserved_ them. Something that important needed to be taken care of, and sitting in that hollow chest was doing no such thing for them. You may have them back if you wish."

Alistair was too dumbfounded to reply, so Karia retrieved them from the hag. For a moment, there was silence. Bravely, Karia offered, "Thank you,"

"Oh, manners." The witch tisked, but not with displeasure, "Always found in the last place you expect them to be…much like stockings," She cackled at her own joke, while the others watched her feeling ill at ease. She sighed, "Ah, do not mind me. But we did not come here for idle chatter. You have a war to attend to, do you not? Be off with you, Grey Warden."

"Why did you help us?" pressed the elf, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The old woman laughed, her voice like gravel, "We share a common enemy in the darkspawn. It is a Grey Warden's job to eliminate them. If I choose to hinder you, then your means of defeating the darkspawn are hindered, and I lose my swamp and possibly my life in the process. That does not sound like an advantageous move. Aiding you allows us to achieve both of our means. I help you, you defeat the darkspawn and end the blight, and I stay here, safe in my swamp. The answer was quite simple."

Karia had to concede that her logic made sense. If ever there was to be peace, allies had to be made. And, apparently, they could be made in some of the most unlikely places. It surprised her to discover this in such a place. _Could the witches possibly our stockings? Er…metaphorically speaking…_for some strange reason, Karia blushed at her own train of thought. For that, she focused on the words that the witch spoke.

"Now is the time to go, Grey Wardens. I believe you have pressing matters to attend to."

"Goodbye," chimed Morrigan in her usual uncaring tone. The old woman turned to her roughly,

"Don't be ridiculous, girl. That is no way to treat a guest."

Looking suitably chastened, the younger witch amended, "That is, allow me to escort you _out_, then…"

Without saying anything further, the old woman stepped into her confining hut and Morrigan beckoned the four Wardens to follow her yet again. Ser Jory and Daveth, who had said nary a word since their first outburst during the entire exchange allowed themselves heavy sighs and gasps of relief. Their blanched faces began to regain some former color and vigor as they perceived that their time in the Korcari Wilds was nearly at an end. This was a relief to the entire party. Alistair strode purposely forward and Karia's deliberate steps exuded some measure of confidence to the others—confidence that they had yet to make themselves feel on the inside.

_Fake it till you make it, Cousin._ Karia smiled, remembering Soris say such a thing to her once, a long time ago. The memory brought a small grin to her face, as well as the sharp pang of another sorrowful memory. She brushed it aside, focusing on trying to keep up with the apostate several paces ahead of her.

Eventually, the menacing surroundings grew less eerie as portions of the night sky started to peek through the canopy of razor leaves and curling mists. The ground beneath their feet became more solid and thus their steps followed suit. Before long, Morrigan haughtily announced their arrival at the Wild's outskirts, fading back into its cover before anyone could say a word of thanks.

Alistair ignored the witch's disappearance, seemingly grateful to have her gone. He took a moment to evaluate the members of the party with him, assuring himself that they were all accounted for: safe—and relatively sound. Ser Jory shook himself a little and grumped,

"I will be a happy man if we _never_ have to do that again!"

Karia agreed silently, as did Daveth, who shuddered and whispered, "Oh, Maker, that was horrible."

Alistair chuckled, his goofy grin settling across his face as the party gathered close, "Honestly, how could you not enjoy that once-in-a-lifetime chance? Knocking about in the Wilds was a bit too much for you?"

"Once-in-a-lifetime is right!" Ser Jory harrumphed, "Why hasn't that preposterous bog been burned to the ground? And that witch! An apostate! We just walked away without challenging it at all."

The junior Warden's smile turned upside down, "Yes, I remember. There was little we could do about it at the time."

"It should have been slain—simply for being a maleficar!"

Karia was troubled by the words being spoken by the knight. She shook her head, "That would have been wrong. We posed no threat to her in the beginning. She allied with us and preserved the papers. It would have been traitorous to turn against them simply because of their magic."

By the deep frowns on the knight's and Alistair's face, she judged perhaps there was more to the situation that she was not seeing. Sheepishly, she quieted and decided it would be best just to travel in silence. Therefore, it surprised her when Alistair resignedly added,

"She is right, you know. Whether we like what they are or not, they did help us. And right now the most important thing we could be doing is returning to Duncan. Let the Chantry send knights after them if it will, but that is not our main goal right now. Maleficars pale in comparison to an army of Darkspawn knocking at your door." He attempted a bit of humor, but it was lost on the irritable Ser. Slightly put off that his humor was in vain, Alistair took a deep breath, "Right then, let's get back." And turning, he and the others made their way to the military base at Ostagar, glad to put the dangers of the Korcari Wilds behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank you all for continuing to follow Karia's story with me! I appreciate the reviews and messages. Keep them coming! This one is much longer and hopefully will be worth it. This was hard to piece together, getting all the dialog and facts straight. Hopefully it turns out better than it sounds. There is a lot of "thought talk" in this chapter from Alistair and Karia and you get to see what each side thinks. Trust me, they'll be talking out loud here soon enough. Don't rush me. ;) Thanks again y'all! Enjoy Chapter 6...the Joining..._

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Karia smiled when the gates of Ostagar came into sight, relieved to finally be so close to finishing her quest. The entire mission had not taken them very long, but it had certainly taken a heavy toll. She shuddered, remembering all of the fighting and the tension and stress. Despite what Duncan believed, Karia was sure that he had made a mistake in recruiting her for the Grey Wardens. She was no fighter like Alistair and she was certainly no tactician. The paltry sword craft she had learned was hardly enough to support her in a battle. In embarrassment, she recalled how, twice, Alistair had to come to her rescue—taking care of her because she could not do so herself. _What a fool he must think I am…_she blushed, turning her face away so the tall man beside her could not see the flush. She glanced at the bandages on her arms. They tingled still, and certain movements she made sent electric shocks of pain flaring through her forearms. _Yet another reminder of my ineptitude…_thought she, quite forlornly.

Alistair gazed askance at the elf beside him. Behind the façade of her deliberate steps, proud lift of her chin, and the stubborn set in her jaw, he saw the slump of her shoulders and way she avoided direct eye contact with him. It made him wonder. These were all the signs of shame and embarrassment. But of what? He wished he could say something to her—to cheer her up a bit. But he kept silent, certain that his awkward humor would only make the situation worse. He sighed inwardly, feeling miserable, as though he had failed the young woman. His confusion about her gave him pause. _They won't recruit more women in the Grey Wardens because men like me can't handle how confusing they are._ Alistair smothered the grin he felt coming, knowing that the confusion wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If all women candidates acted as courageously as Karia did in the Wilds, it was worth fussing over. He was quite proud of Duncan's choice. Seeing how the other two cowered in fear over the smallest things, he found himself hoping more and more that the Joining would go well…as well as becoming more and more fearful that it wouldn't…

He turned his attention to the other two recruits. Ser Jory and Daveth had taken to bickering over ethics since returning from the Wilds. Daveth, having grown up as a pickpocket on the streets of Denerim lived to a different code of conduct and principle than did Ser Jory, who was a knight, after all. Alistair caught the middle of their lively discussion.

"How in the Maker's name can you say he didn't need that money? Perhaps he was on his way to pay the tax collectors!" the knight fumed at the young man beside him.

Daveth laughed, "My good Ser, he _was _a tax collector! And even if he were not, the tax collector is the _last _ person you would want to be seeking out."

"Still, it was wrong to take it! The kingdom's economy depends on the taxes. It is how the system supports itself."

"I was investing it in something more important…" Daveth said with a grin, "It was a life or death situation. And desperate times seek desperate measures. I was quite desperate."

Ser Jory glowered, "It had better be very important to have cost someone a hundred crowns…"

"It was!" the thief persisted, "My stomach certainly thought it was important." He amended, "It _still_ thinks it was important. It got me _this_ far, didn't it? I would be a horrible at defeating the Blight as a dead man."

The knight threw up his hands in utter disgust, "And to think you're now a Grey Warden! The Order is doomed, I tell you. Doomed!"

Heaving a contented sigh, Daveth said, "You and your codes and rules, Ser Jory…if you end up starving one day, my friend, don't say that I didn't try to help you!"

The big man huffed, "We're not friends, and you haven't helped me at all!"

"See? Look at you. Already run amuck and blaming your dear benefactor. Tsk, tsk, tsk…"

"Bene-what?" the knight shook his head, "No. No, no. We are stopping that tangent right there! My point to you is that if you so much as unbalance the economy by taking those taxes, you're hurting not only the king, but the people paying him!"

"And I say that taxes do nobody any good. People pay out their ears just to keep up with all the expenses the banns and arls and officials have. The money needs to be put back into the economy through good old fashioned trade—like I had so exampled." The young rogue smiled, "It works better flowing free than shut up in the king's coffers."

"The king supports the communities! He pays right back into the people's pockets! He pays the knights and when they are fed, they fight better. And when they fight better, they protect better. And when the people are better protected, the trade more, and more trade means more money for everyone and—"

"Ah, but then _you_ are one of the welfare recipients, yes?"

"It isn't welfare if I am earning it."

In mock disbelief, Daveth continued, to the sheer chagrin of Ser Jory, "Yes, yes, yes…go on and speak about it being your job—defending the people, and all that nonsense. I would consider it an honor and privilege to serve the people. But wouldn't it mean more to the people if it were not a salaried commission?"

"But," Ser Jory was thoroughly riled and he growled at the scrawny rogue, "Privilege and honor do little to feed a man's stomach."

"_Now_ we finally agree on something…"

Alistair smiled, finding it hard to stifle his laughter, especially after seeing Karia's expression of weakening restraint as she tried not to laugh either concerning the playful—or perhaps not so playful—banter. She risked a glance at her companion and he winked encouragingly. Quickly, she averted her gaze, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. The man's smile broadened. _That was cute…_

He thought to himself that she didn't smile much. She never _really_ smiled. Even when teasing with him, or mingling with others, the one she wore never reached her eyes. They seemed half-hearted, as though she only used them for a mask or a piece of decoration. _No surprise, since we're in the middle of a Blight. She's probably just scared. Nerves and all…She'll come out of her shell soon enough. Like Dav—_

Alistair whirled, but not quickly enough, for Daveth was standing, smirking and holding his prize—Alistair's coin purse. The young Warden patted the pocket that it had been in, only confirming that it was definitely gone. He scowled at the thief, "Give it back you…you not-very-nice-person!" he almost blushed at his failed attempt at a curse. Daveth tossed his coin purse back with a grin, prodding Ser Jory in the side,

"See, my good Ser—it is an art."

The knight said nothing, trying to pretend that the entire fiasco had not occurred at all. Alistair was eager to finally reach Duncan's campsite where he would be assured that his possessions were safe…for the most part. He cast a suspicious glance at the young pickpocket behind him, then he chuckled good-naturedly. There was no harm done, or intended. _As long as it doesn't happen again…_

Duncan was outside his tent waiting for them. He had not gotten any rest since sending the recruits into the Korcari Wilds. Although he trusted Alistair entirely with their safety, the Wilds were a dangerous place for more reasons than that of the darkspawn infiltration. He knew Daveth was wily enough to survive and Ser Jory was a seasoned veteran, but their training had never consisted of battling anything quite so vicious as a darkspawn. Seeing his Junior Grey Warden coming through the far gates lifted his spirits considerably and he released the breath he had unconsciously been holding for those few seconds of self inflicted apprehension. They were still quite a ways off, but he could make them out distinctly. Behind Alistair followed the other two men, and Duncan actually smiled when he caught sight of the elf girl, Karia. She was battered and bandaged and looked bone weary, but her stubborn steps kept pace with the others. He had wondered most about her, above the other two recruits. Instinctively, Duncan could sense that she had a strength that had yet to be tapped into. He saw a glimpse of it in the alienage in Denerim. Her painful experience, though hard to bear, had opened an entirely new world for her. It was forcing her to expand her awareness, leave her comfort zone, and make something of herself. Like a bird pushed from its nest into the open sky, she was pushed from her home into an unsettled world. Soon, if properly guided, that little bird would fly.

Karia looked up from the ground she had been studying. She suddenly felt very weary. Her whole body ached—even muscles she hadn't even known existed were screaming in protest at her movements. It was a depressing thought to realize that she was incredibly unfit, even though in the alienage, she had been very active for a young elfin lass. She was an expert on horseback, and could probably outrun any of the boys in the village. She had practiced with weaponry, but only a little. It was enough to stay conditioned, and she had enough weapons lore to be able to pick up a weapon and have some understanding of how to use it. But compared to the rigors of being a Grey Warden, her active life was practically a lazy one.

_I feel very lazy right now…a bedroll and some hot tea sound wonderful at the moment. Oh, but Ostagar is so big! Where is the rally point for this mission? When does it end?_ complained the girl inwardly, lifting her head to look farther forward. The many people rushing across their intended path disoriented her and quite helplessly, she resigned to tagging along behind Alistair and the other two men. They were more familiar with the territory than she was, and her impatient glances did little to help the time go by. She allowed herself one more brief look from where she stood behind Daveth, expecting to see only more hustling bodies. She was surprised, however, when she spied a large fire in the center of the Warden Base. And before that fire stood a comfortingly familiar figure…Duncan!

A burst of energy coursed through her body in her excitement to see him. Abandoning the three men, she rushed forward with a soft squeal of delight, throwing herself into the stoic man's arms, "Duncan! I am so glad to see you!"

The old Warden staggered backward from the impact, awkwardly putting his arms around the girl when the initial shock at her reaction finally faded. As commander, he should have felt some sort of disapprobation at the childish behavior. He should have peeled her off of him. He should have..._nothing!_ Abandoning all thought of propriety, the man squeezed the girl tightly…and even smiled.

When she was finally able to let go, she gazed up at him for a moment, the relief causing her eyes to glimmer for just briefly before she shuttered her emotions away once more. All of the tension and stress and fear she had felt during their excursion in the Wilds was ebbing away. She had begun to see Duncan as a constant in her life, and it was good to feel a sense of belonging—at least with someone. Her family in the alienage was lost to her until the Blight ended. And because of this, she had decided to salvage the loss from the ranks of the Grey Wardens—beginning with Duncan. "Welcome back, young one." He said softly. Karia said nothing, but her eyes relayed the depth of her emotion—her thankfulness to be back. That was all Duncan needed to see. His gaze dropped to the bandages on her arm and she answered quietly,

"There were battles. These are simply proof."

He nodded, grimly. He had expected as much. It was enough that the four of them returned, at all.

By that time, Alistair, Daveth, and Ser Jory had caught up. Duncan shook their hands and slapped Alistair fondly on the back, "You have arrived all in one piece, I see. Well done." He would have asked more, _wished_ he could hear the details. But duty demanded that the Joining ritual be done with all haste. Therefore, he inquired as to the state of their mission.

"We have the blood and the papers. They had been…preserved…by a witch and her apostate daughter. They gave them to us with no issue."

"That is a curious matter, indeed," Duncan grimaced, "But we have no time to investigate such matters." Alistair nodded his agreement and the older Warden continued speaking to the entire group, "The Joining ritual will take place tonight, but it requires some preparation. Use that time wisely; you shall be summoned when the preparations are completed."

Ser Jory and Daveth wasted no time in scrambling to the mess hall. The apprehension and terror they had felt had worked them into a ravenous hunger and they were eager to sate their growling stomachs. Karia was quite the opposite. More than anything, she wanted to lie down. Too near were the images of death she had seen, so horrifyingly personified within the darkspawn themselves. Too soon was the terrifying event, the Joining, that would forever change the course of her life. It was happening so quickly—her head saw it coming, but her heart had not caught up with the emotion of it all. For now, it was fact. She was a little worried to think of how it would feel when the full gravity of it hit her. _If_ it had time to hit her…

_Well, that certainly was bright and cheery…_she chided herself, _I refuse to sulk. Stop it. Right now…Okay, maybe I'll sulk for 10 minutes. But that's it!_

Alistair stepped to approach her, seeing her hesitation to follow the other Wardens, but Duncan cut him off, "Alistair, I could use your help with the preparations."

The young man nodded dutifully, following his mentor. As they strode together away from Duncan's fire, Alistair turned to wave back at Karia—a friendly gesture that she returned with a guarded smile. When they had disappeared from her sight, she cast idle glances about her at the rest of the encampment. It seemed Duncan's fire was the only place—besides the Mabari kennels—that was being avoided. Possibly, she surmised, out of respect. It did not matter, she supposed. The sight that _really_ occupied her attention was the sight of her bedroll, neatly folded next to a chest of personal belongings. She spread it out and unceremoniously slumped down onto the blanket, wrapping herself tightly with the soft material and reveling the feeling of being enveloped completely by something warm and familiar. For a moment, she watched the fire, wondering if maybe she ought to have moved further away. But then the dancing flames seemed to meld into unrecognizable blurs of motion, the light fading until…until…

"Karia? Karia, wake up," strong hands grasped her shoulders and gently shook her awake, "Come on, sleepy head," Alistair's lighthearted voice pierced through the blackness, "Rise and shine."

She mumbled something incoherent, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. Already? She had not even recalled falling asleep. But the night was darker, so she must have done so. She was more perplexed to wake with Alistair crouched beside her, but the alarm she felt faded away when she saw his boyishly lopsided grin. Sitting up slowly, she ran her fingers through her hair, tucking the wavy auburn locks behind her delicately pointed ears. Alistair stood and waited a few paces off while she folded her bedroll, setting it again beside Duncan's wooden chest. Once finished, she straightened, and watched him expectantly.

Alistair smiled broadly at her, "Off we go then!" he ushered her towards a secluded turret at the far side of Ostagar. He was oddly silent, she observed, when after a few minutes he still had not made any sort of silly comment. She had come to enjoy his quirky sense of humor and was a little surprised to note that it was missing completely. Stealing a surreptitious glance at him, she noticed the fidgety movement of his hands, and how every now and then he would run his fingers through his hair. But what bothered her most was the cold, hollow look in his eyes. It was the look of worry, of _dread._ Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach.

"The Joining…" she dared to say after another minute, "Can you tell me about it?"

Alistair stiffened, _Blast, she can read my mind!_ "No…I can only say it is not a very long process." he feigned an unconvincing smile.

Karia frowned. Unsatisfied with that answer, she persisted, "Surely there must be something you can tell me. What does it do?"

_Well…I guess I can answer that…_ "It is as its name describes: a Joining. It gives you the ability to…sense the Darkspawn and gives you a sort of immunity to their taint." He shook his head, "I really can't say more. We're almost there," he gave her another smile, this one a bit more natural than his first attempt. Karia was still not fully assured.

They ascended a familiar turret and joined the other two recruits who were once again in a heated discussion—this time about duty and of sacrifice. Karia stepped beside Daveth, awaiting silently Duncan's arrival. Alistair took his stance near her, admiring the stone turret. It was the one in which he had been bickering with a mage. He smiled inwardly at the memory. Looking down at the elf beside him, he remembered the surprise he felt when he first saw her lurking in the shadows. All four of them had come quite a ways since that first meeting. _Her_ arrival was perhaps the most shocking to him.

_**It was already infuriating enough that he had to have been chosen to confront a mage—as a templar! It was an offense to both parties. But not only was the situation uncomfortably annoying, so was the mage's attitude. The snooty, snide remarks he exchanged with Alistair did little to lighten Alistair's mood, although the young Warden deflected the comments aside with his usual playful humor. What made everything worse was that he was not allowed the chance to greet Duncan and his new recruit. He had heard such good things said about the new fellow that Alistair was quite eager to meet him. Anyone that Duncan spoke so highly of was definitely worth getting to know. He was curious, though, as to why Duncan always referred to him as "our new candidate," or "the new recruit," and never directly by name. He was still pondering this after he had convinced the mage to get underway and was turning to greet Duncan at his fire. A motion in the shadows caught his attention as the mage shouted something and walked past in an even greater huff. Alistair stepped closer and was more than a little shocked to see an elf, waiting there nervously, staring at him with inquisitive bright green eyes. _

_Not knowing what else to say, he had bumbled on about the Blight and parties and holding hands…but the elf went along with his little joke as though she had met him before. _

_Wait…she? Oh no…perhaps that's why Duncan had never mentioned…_

_The new Grey Warden was a _girl_…**_

It was then that Duncan walked up the causeway, snapping Alistair out of his reverie and commanding the attention of the entire assembly. Karia watched him with silent trepidation of what was to come. The look on Duncan's face was so carefully guarded—the effort it took to keep it so indicated to Karia that this Joining was of more import than they had first suspected. With what pride was left in her, she lifted her chin, determined not to back down—determined not to fear what was to follow.

In Duncan's hands was a silver chalice filled to the brim with…with…_Oh Maker,_ her stomach churned, _darkspawn blood_. She swallowed down her revulsion and tried to listen to Duncan's words. She did not like the detached tone of voice he used, nor did she like the stoic façade he had donned. This did not bode well at all…

"At last we come to the Joining," he began, setting the goblet down on a stone table, "The Grey Wardens found its origin during the first Blight when all of humanity stood upon the precipice of annihilation." He paused in his speech to examine the three recruits nervously waiting before him. When he spoke again, his voice was bolder and clearer, "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood…and in so doing, mastered their Taint."

The silence was palpable as Duncan's words sank into them, "We're…we're going to drink the blood of those…those _creatures?_" Ser Jory gasped, his hands beginning to shake nervously. Duncan ignored his comment, continuing with his speech,

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, and as we did before you." He gave each one of the a pointed look. Karia felt herself tremble beneath his gaze, his words taking full effect, "_This_ is the source of our power. And our _victory_."

Offering explanation, Alistair added, "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint," We can _sense_ it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

Again, Ser Jory sputtered, "Those who _survive?_"

"Not all who drink the blood will survive," Duncan warned, "And those who do are forever changed," he faced the recruits with solemnity, "This is why the Joining is kept a secret. It is the price we pay…" at this point, his voice sounded tired, as though he were feeling the price just by speaking of it. Karia shuddered, trying not to imagine the great struggle he faced imparting this knowledge to them. She stole a glance at Alistair and was alarmed to see how serious he was. She could almost feel his tension, almost as clearly as she felt the other's. Silently, she wished that the Joining would end—and soon!

Duncan turned again to Alistair, "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first." He nodded to him, "If you would…"

The strong young man nodded meekly, bowing his head with reverence as he repeated the ancient words, "Join us, brothers and sisters." He spoke the words slowly, carefully, with great gravity and meaning, "Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn." He paused, his jaw working as he fought with his own personal emotions before continuing again, "And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten – and that, one day, _we_ shall join _you_." The words seemed to have drained him, and he looked back at Duncan with a resigned acceptance.

Duncan nodded at him, then turned and took the cup in his hands. He held it out, "Daveth," and Karia saw the recruit flinch at the sound of his name, "Come forth."

The rogue squared his shoulders bravely, striding forward to take the cup. Grasping it firmly in both his hands, he tipped the brim of the chalice to his lips, every nerve and muscle in his body taut. With only a moment's hesitation, he drank a solid mouthful of the cup's contents.

Duncan retrieved the cup from Daveth's trembling hands and waited. Daveth wiped a drop of the blood from his mouth, and was about to remark when a sudden pain seared through his body. He doubled over, all of him hurting all at once. First it felt like the sting of a million fire ants biting into his skin, and then it went deeper…and deeper. He screamed in pain, dropping to his knees, spasming from the carnage going on within his body as the Taint spread throughout his system. With one last desperate gasp, Daveth slumped face first onto the hard stone floor…dead.

Karia gasped when the first spasm attacked the man. The horror in his eyes reflected in her own and she could not watch him suffer. She shut her eyes tightly, putting her hands up to her ears to muffle the ragged screams. A single tear streaked down her face when she heard the man take his dying breath. Alistair watched her in silent pity. _It could have been her…I know that feeling…_But there was nothing he could do to help either of the recruits now; and so he watched the rest of the Joining in stony silence.

A great sadness washed over Duncan's features as he whispered, "I am sorry, Daveth…" The mask rose again when he called, "Step forward, Ser Jory."

The knight backed away, fear seizing him and demolishing his judgment, "No…" he pleaded, "No, you ask too much!" there were tears in his eyes—tears of desperation and dread. He screamed at the older Warden, "There is no glory in this!" and drew his sword, poised for a battle. "I won't drink it…"

Carefully, Duncan set the cup on the table, unsheathing his dagger. He held it aloft, inwardly hoping that Ser Jory would back down…but even then he knew the knight would do no such thing. It was unclear who charged first. But after one calculated move, Duncan's blade pierced into the knight's heart, "I am sorry, Jory…" he said, as the dying man gurgled, the blood dripping from his mouth and leaking from his wound. Finally spent, the knight collapsed on the unyielding floor.

Duncan wiped his blade clean and sheathed it before holding the chalice out to the last candidate…Karia swallowed hard, knowing what was to come.

His voice softened, seeing her earnest struggle to master the fear that threatened to overcome her. "Step forth, Karia…"

She felt her heart grow cold and the icy lump formed again in the pit of her stomach. She could hardly breath. Millions of thoughts were racing through her mind, but none of them were coherent. Her hands raised, seemingly of their own volition towards the proffered goblet and they were shaking so hard that the remaining blood nearly spilled onto her hands. She risked a glance at Alistair, but he was not watching. He had averted his gaze to the floor. Her last pleading gaze was directed towards Duncan who matched it with his own silent, deliberate one. Knowing there was no turning back, she lifted it gingerly to her lips, and, without further hesitation, drank of the blood.

She handed the cup to Duncan quickly, glad to have it over with. A few seconds of nothing passed, and she was beginning to hope that was the end of it. She evaluated herself, and except for some queasiness she felt…_oh no…_

_Fire_! Burning her from the inside out. It was inside her head like a swarm of angry stinging bees, like a hurricane churning inside her stomach, and like lava coursing through her whole body like a raging inferno. And suddenly, when she thought it could not get any worse, the fire _exploded_. Karia desperately gasped for breath, summoning all of her willpower to withhold herself from screaming. And when she thought she couldn't stand another second of the agony, everything went _black._

Alistair rushed forward to catch her before she hit the stone floor, fear clutching his heart. He prayed silently to the Maker for her life. Two deaths at a Joining were enough; he did not want to witness another. Duncan pushed his friend aside to further inspect the elf girl. Leaning down, he moved his ear close to feel any indication of breath. For a moment, all was still and Duncan feared that she had succumbed to the Taint as Daveth had. Another moment…and then he felt it: a small, faint breath tickling his ear.

Karia lived.

The younger Warden sighed heavily in relief, sinking back on his heels. He exchanged a grateful look with Duncan. They spoke no words. There was nothing to be said, now. All that was left for them was to wait for the brave little elf—no, the brave _Grey Warden_— to awaken.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Chapter 7 in the adventure of our little elf Warden, Karia. :) Can you believe it's almost Christmas? Pretty exciting, I'd say! This was a hard chapter for me to write. I did not feel inclined to jump right into the battle, and I wanted to stress the point that Karia did indeed have a mind of her own, as is shown. You'll have to read it-because I'm not telling up here. That would defeat the purpose. ;) Anywho, I hope this didn't turn out as dumb as I think it did...I got a good review from some friends, but they're my buddies...I'd expect them to be _a little_ biased. Comments and reviews would be appreciated-and I hope you enjoy the seventh installment of Victory, Vigilence, and Sacrifice._

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_  
_

_Darkness…emptiness…and then a great roar. There was an army of them—millions of darkspawn hoarding around a great dragon. It roared in fury, spreading its massive wings out and covering half of the swarming army beneath its shadow. Dark fire flared from its gaping maw and the air crackled from its intense heat. Some of the dragon's own recruits fell in open fear before this display. Suddenly, the giant head turned and seemed to be looking directly at _her…_It roared fiercely, and a new burst of flames jetted out, reaching for her—so close. She could not escape it…_

With a choked cry, Karia woke and her eyes shot open. She was panting and bathed in a cold sweat from the intensity of her dream. Sitting up quickly, she almost collided with the two men hovering worriedly over her. Alistair dodged her movement, grinning boyishly in his immense relief that the girl was finally awake. Duncan shared his relief, but was more composed, "Congratulations," said the man, helping her to her feet, "Grey Warden. You have survived the Joining and officially bear the title."

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. Everything was coming back to her through the miasma…the Joining…the blood…She could almost hear the blood-curdling screams echoing through the turret from Daveth's cries. And Ser Jory—his maddened attack on Duncan and the ignoble death he suffered because of it. The reality of the nightmarish ordeal still stained the floor of the parapet, the whetted iron smell reeking in her nostrils and blasting her with another intense wave of nausea. Quickly, she covered her mouth with one of her hands, taking deep, slow breaths from in between her fingers and trying to calm herself. She was uncomfortably aware of the two pairs of eyes watching her with renewed concern and, for their sakes, Karia swallowed the disgust she felt. Taking one more deep breath, she rasped,

"That was horrible…"

Alistair's face turned grim, "At my Joining, only one of us died…" he shook his head, "It was…awful…but, I am glad that at least _one_ of you survived this one," the sincerity in his voice momentarily melted her protective barrier, and she rewarded him with a very slight smile,

"As am I,"

Duncan cleared his throat, "It is ,indeed, unfortunate what happened to Daveth…and Ser Jory,"

She saw through his apology and stopped him before he could continue, "It was _necessary,_" she corrected, "I understand, Duncan. You did what you had to do, however…_barbaric _it may have seemed at the time."

He smiled in approval, "Perceptive as ever. Yes, I realize that. But I was unsure if _you_ did. It is good that we agree."

Prodding, Alistair asked, "Did you have dreams?" she lifted luminous green eyes to him, wide-eyed and waiting for him to continue. He shuffled, casting his eyes away from her and feeling slightly embarrassed, wondering just how childish he sounded, "I had terrible dreams at my Joining,"

After a short pause, she responded, "Yes," and her voice was low and husky, betraying the deep emotions she was holding bravely in check, "And they were horrific…"Karia shared a knowing glance with Alistair and he suddenly felt less foolish knowing she understood. He grinned lopsidedly,

"That monster-under-the-bed story I was raised on certainly didn't help my perceptions of the whole thing either," he attempted humor and her soft chuckle was recompense enough for it.

Taking another ragged breath, she shivered and cast her gaze back to the stone floor, suddenly feeling unconscionably weary. She tried to keep the somnolent feeling from showing, but the lethargic sag in her overall carriage and the hollow look in her eyes were more than obvious to the other two Wardens than she realized. Duncan reached out and patted her shoulder, "Come now, young one…you have a few moments to yourself now to do as you please. Rest and do as you must to prepare for the upcoming battle. Then, in an hour's time, find me just a ways west of here. It is extremely important that you appear for that meeting. The king _and_ Teyrn Loghain will be present, discussing battle plans and you shall not want to be absent for it."

Alistair cleared his throat, "There is just one more thing,"

She cocked her head to meet his glance. He was fidgeting with something in his hand, and she couldn't quite make out what it was. His face was neutral, but she could see the depth of emotion in his eyes. What he had to say was important-the straight stance he took and the low tone of voice both conveyed his message for him, "When someone completes a Joining, we take some of the blood and put it in an amulet...so that we may never forget the sacrifice of those that did not make it." Gingerly, he presented the token to her.

Her eyes were wide with wonder when she took it from him. It was a simply fashioned medallion, but the deep redness of it seemed to glow with an unnatural light, beating with each pound of her heart. Perhaps it would not seem like much to another, but to her it was so much more than a reminder. The last "ritual" she had endured-_well...nearly endured..._ had ended with her future husband's death. The only material reminder she could have kept had been destroyed in a fire, accomplished by the help of Duncan. The destruction of that token had been symbolic of the death of her past life. Now that she had survived the Joining, her new life spread before her like an open book, waiting for words to fill its pages. This amulet, though not replacing what she could have had in different circumstances, was a representation of what the future held for her-what she had _now_. She was a Grey Warden. Nothing would ever change that. No darkspawn, no Blight-nothing could take that away from her. The small, blood-red amulet, warm in her hand was her wedding ring to the Order. This was something she did not have to throw away-ever. Mutely, she clasped it around her neck, the tears brimming her eyes as she gazed speechlessly at the two men watching her. They saw her reaction...and understood. There were no words necessary for such a time as this.

She nodded dutifully to them before taking her leave, and she walked away gratefully. She was weary and had to cover a yawn from behind her gauntled hand. Besides that, she was more than willing to finally be leaving the dismal tower. The grandiose columns rising above her head created dim overcasts to an already despondent day, and the silent, silver halls she walked seemed parallel to the ancient stories of the paths that dead men traversed to reach their afterlife. So much death…so much destruction…If she hadn't known better, Karia would have supposed—hoped, even—that everything that had just occurred since before she left the alienage was a dream. A profoundly terrifying dream. But all the scars and bruises she had acquired upon her slight body were testament enough that such a hope was not to be. It was undeniably real. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Or was there?

Karia closed her mind to the new thread of thoughts invading her mind. This was not something she needed to focus on—she was weary, and inconceivably unprepared for whatever battle was to take place. Her armor was ripped and torn in several places, and her longsword needed to be sharpened. Not only that, but she had to eat eventually, as unappetizing as food of any sort sounded. She considered asking Alistair, but that would have meant following him to his own small campsite, and she felt even _less_ inclined to do _that_ than wander about lost. Foolish pride, but at least it preserved _some_ of her dignity. At least, that is what she hoped. Grey Warden he may be, funny as he was, and good-looking, too—she really couldn't deny that—he may not have minded the intrusion at all. But there was still something to be said about independence. And she had _quite_ the abundance of _that_.

"So…the smith, then…" she muttered aloud to herself, her voice sounding strange amidst the hubbub of everyone else's. She shut her mouth tightly after that and hastened to the smithy. It was less of a task than she had first imagined it to be, somehow having remembered the location of the man's plot of land. He seemed slightly nervous to see her again, not sure exactly how to address her—she was an elf after all, though Grey Warden now, first and foremost. And he had certainly not made a good impression on her during their first introduction. Karia sensed this and did her absolute best to be as friendly and forgiving as possible—even rewarding him with a broad smile,

"I had a question to ask you, sir,"

He had to stop the work he was hiding behind to face her, "Aye? And that would be?"

"There are several tears on my leather jerkin. Is it possible they could be repaired today?" she held out the suit, showing him the exact areas. He almost laughed

"Certainly—that's nothing at all," he called out to one of his slaves—or _helpers_—a young elfin lad that was carrying firewood, "Pick, take this to the back for me, will ya?" he demanded, and then turned back to Karia, "Come back soon; it will be finished within the next half hour."

She gratefully handed him payment before heading out to search for whetting stones to sharpen her longsword. Her search brought her past the kennels where one of the guards stopped her,

"Miss! Young lady!" his voice carried across to her, and she turned midstride to look at him. The guard waved for her to approach and he quickly recounted his request, "I'm kennel master 'ere, and one of my dogs is ill. He's been poisoned by darkspawn blood and his master was killed in the last skirmish. He's a good dog, though—tough one. It would be a waste to kill him," he hurriedly scribbled on a piece of paper, "You've been in the Korcari Wilds, eh? Well, there's a flower in there, not far from the back gate, that could help the poor beast if you wouldn't mind retrieving it. I can't leave 'im just now. I've got to get 'im muzzled." he lifted the vellum sketch and presented it to her, "That's the flower. Would you do this for me?"

Karia glanced at the dogs in the kennel. Immediately she recognized the one of which he spoke. A tan mabari huddled in one far corner of the fence, trembling uncontrollably, raised mournful eyes to meet hers. Before the kennel master could stop her, she opened the wooden gate and cautiously approached the beast. It made no move to stop her; and she came closer. Karia swallowed back a surprised gasp when she realized just how big the dog was. She had seen dogs before, but never a trained war mabari—they were so much bigger than an average dog. Compared to the wolves in the Wilds, this dog was possibly twice the size of an alpha wolf and definitely more dangerous. This one, however, was too miserable to even growl at the intruding elf. It hung its head without motivation enough to sniff her hand and its large eyes stared her down with wordless pleading. _It's just one flower…_

"I'll get the flower, "she agreed, glancing back to face the man. As she turned to leave, a brown, leather object hit the ground beside her and she warily evaded it. The guard's voice carried over the fence in explanation,

"Um…mind if you muzzle 'im for me too? I need to treat 'im while you're away and if he bites me I'm a dead man."

Rolling her eyes at his obvious lack of nerve, she did so and the dog only whined softly in response. But before the man could think of another errand for her to run, she scurried away from the kennel, keeping a close watch on the darkening sky. Since time was against her, Karia ate as she walked to the edge of the Wilds. Pulling a small portion of salted pork from her pack as well as a biscuit—or what she thought was biscuit; it may as well have been a golden rock—the elf quickly scouted the perimeter of the camp. The flower was one that she recognized. It was a local flower to the region and was as useful as it was pretty. She loved flowers and would have enjoyed taking time to study it more, but at the time she had been more preoccupied with the darkspawn attacking her than the local flora and fauna, and the opportunity never presented itself.

Karia sighed in relief when she finally came across the small plant. Her hour was nearly finished when she arrived back at the kennels and presented the flower to the overjoyed kennel master. He expressed his most sincere thanks and offered to pay her—and as tempting as the offer was, she declined. After all, even had she wanted it, it would have taken too much time for him to find his coin purse and she still needed to fetch her armor.

_My armor!_ Karia frowned, remembering. Running across the busy camp, she was able to pick up her repaired jerkin and with no time to spare. It took her the rest of her hour to find where Duncan had requested her to meet him, and she was still fiddling with the straps on her scabbard and breastplate when she arrived, slightly bitter that she never got around to sharpening her sword. She made it in time to hear King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain in the midst of a heated discussion on tactics and where the King would be fighting,

"I will take my stand with the Grey Wardens," said the confident king, infuriating the stony faced Teyrn.

"You put too much stock in glory."

King Cailan looked up from the maps they had been poring over when he heard the tap of her shoes on the floor, "Ah, the young lass I met earlier. I hear that congratulations are in order." He smiled in admiration of the feat she had accomplished, "You are privileged to be among so great and glorious an order as the Grey Wardens."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," responded she, nodding her head in respect and acknowledgment. Before the king could continue his conversation with her, however, Teyrn Loghain burst out with another accusation of the king's foolhardiness at which point they went into another verbal round of blows, each arguing their point. In surprise at their behavior, Karia turned to Duncan, her eyes wide with question. The older Warden gave her a grim smile and brought her up to date, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the king and teyrn.

"King Cailan has plans to ride out with the Grey Wardens during the confrontation. That would put us at the front gates of Ostagar where we stand the best chance of defending. The Teyrn wishes, then, for a signal allowing him to know when his battalion should flank the enemy from another front. He has men stationed at the top of the Tower of Ishal in order to light the beacon—_that _will be—"

"Then let two of our best do it," King Cailan's voice rose with enthusiasm, "Let Alistair and our new Grey Warden light the beacon."

Teyrn Loghain scowled, "You rely too solely on these Grey Wardens,"

"Enough with your conspiracy theories, Loghain," the king admonished, for he was not listening to his morose teyrn, as usual. He turned to Karia, his eyes seeking her answer. She bowed her head with acquiescence and his grin returned. Duncan, seeing another confrontation between the king and teyrn excused himself and his new Warden. They could still hear the men arguing as they ambled down the causeway.

Karia had not quite understood what she had just seen, nor did she understand why she had needed to be present for it. She cast an inquisitive glance at her mentor, and he, understanding the look, sighed in resignation, "I wanted you present because the king wanted to congratulate you. It did not occur to me until after you arrived how foolish it was to allow you to see the major differences between our two leaders."

She frowned in distaste, "It is not the disagreement so much as the men. Teyrn Loghain does not seem to be a man to be trifled with, rather hard and uncaring, and King Cailan is…young and brash, though I see a seriousness behind the gleam in his eyes—something I could respect. That they fight openly about strategy, however, is not helping to boost the troops' morale. It certainly did nothing for mine," Her words were laced with a sense of practicality and sagacity that pleased Duncan to hear. Growing up in an alienage, she had a more realistic view of life as it really was, and not how one would wish to view it.

_Opinionated one,_ he thought, but not disapprovingly. Duncan shook his head, "King Cailan is a very…confident man. The Teyrn thinks that he does not take this Blight or the lives of the soldiers seriously, whilst King Cailan believes that he is acting as he should in order to boost confidence in the men. A man that has a cause fights much harder than one that does not. He does indeed know the gravity of the war but…yes, he wishes to get into the heat of the battle for glory's sake, as well. But this is my own speculation." He interjected his last statement quickly, lest she mistake this for fact. But such an amendment was unnecessary, for she had another thought plaguing her.

"Teyrn Loghain also despises the Grey Wardens," she added, "It was quite clear from the venom in his words whenever he spoke of our order," _Our order…_she thought gravely to herself, _It is funny to hear myself say that so soon after…after everything. My new life has officially begun._ The thought was not an unpleasant one. It was true: a man with a purpose has more to fight for. And though she hoped she would not have to do much fighting in the future—aside from the upcoming battle—it was good to know that she _had_ a future somewhere. And for a cause as worthy as the Grey Wardens, it could possibly even be rewarding…

Duncan's voice lowered, "He is wary of the Grey Wardens, to say the least," he was careful not to say anything that would foster dislike for either man, as it appeared she already disapproved of what she saw of the Teyrn. It would not do to have a novice at war with one of the land's superiors. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, "Stop furrowing your brows like that, young one. You're over-analyzing the entire situation. They are both good men, and they have the country's best interest in mind."

"I'm not worried, Duncan, really," she protested, "Just…slightly insecure,"

He laughed, "You can save being 'slightly insecure' for another time. For right now, focus on the task at hand."

"Which is?" she raised a brow, playfully.

"Finding Alistair,"

"Well," chortled she, "where's the cheese?"

Duncan sighed and shook his head. _Hopeless youngsters,_ he thought with a smile.

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Sarcasm dripped off of Alistair's remark, "And so he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case, is that it?" he kicked a stick into the center of Duncan's fire as if for an example.

"The King specifically asked the both of you to do this. If the King says that two Grey Wardens will light the beacon, then there will be two Grey Wardens up there lighting the beacon," Duncan said with finality, and Alistair reluctantly agreed,

"I get it, I get it…" he crossed his arms stubbornly and added, "But just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance to the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no." His hand arced downward, emphasizing his point.

Karia, who had been listening silently as the two men talked, snickered at Alistair's last comment. She lifted mischievous green eyes to meet his brown ones, "You know, I think I'd like to see that,"

His resentment at having to miss most of the battle melted a little at her stare. _There—that smile of hers…still not quite reaching her eyes, I wonder if…_"For you," he answered, "Maybe…" _Almost there_, "But it would have to be a pretty dress,"

Karia laughed again, but Duncan only groaned at the joke. The elfin Warden quickly subsided, realizing the enormity of what they were about to do. It had grown quite dark and the Ostagar was nearly emptied—most of the people in the lower parts near the front gate and the soldiers were assembling in their respective positions. The tall pillars she had once thought so magnificent seemed like ghosts from an age long gone, and the chill in the air promised rain. She shivered, trying to comprehend the entirety of what was just about to happen. All she could think was how grateful she actually was to not be participating in the heat of the battle…as selfish as it probably seemed. She cleared her throat, "What will be expected of us?"

"Once you reach the top of the tower, "Duncan said, relieved that at least one of them was responsible enough to remember the significance of their duty, "you will wait for the signal. Alistair will know what to look for. As soon as you see that, light the beacon. That will let Teyrn Loghain know when to attack. After you complete that, stay there, just in case."

Alistair mumbled something else under his breath, complaining about not being able to be with the rest of the Wardens. Ignoring him, Karia asked if there was anything else, but Duncan shook his head,

"We must go. The time draws near and I am expected to be with the rest of the Grey Wardens and the King. Quickly, the both of you—we are counting on you to succeed in this," He gazed at them earnestly one last time before turning. Alistair called out to him before he could go,

"Duncan!" the elder Warden paused to look at him and Alistair continued, his voice taking on a softer tone, "May the Maker watch over you."

There was sadness in Duncan's eyes as he replied solemnly, "May the Maker watch over us all…"


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This is perhaps the longest chapter out of all of them so far. I just couldn't decide where to break it in half. And then when I should have found one, I couldn't stop writing. This is not the funniest chapter you'll ever read. It made me cry a little remembering the scene on the game. Oh wait! That was a spoiler, wasn't it! Pretend I didn't say anything. This chapter has lots of action and violence. For those of you who don't care for that, I do apologize. Better chapters are coming! By the way, MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope yours was wonderful! :) And I hope the rest of your year is wonderful too! Enjoy Chapter 8 of Victory, Vigilance, and Sacrifice._..

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

_Drums…thudding resolutely in the distance, drawing nearer every passing moment to the ominous ruins of Ostagar. _

_Or were they drums at all?_

_The contingents of troops lined against the unyielding wall of Ostagar stood silent and grave, their faces turned outward towards the Korcari Wilds, seeking for some sign of the battle to come. Upon Ostagar's turrets and the stone bridge waited more warriors, archers poised with their bows and mages holding their staffs at the ready. Engineers manned the few ballistae scattered across the higher levels of the keep. Hearts beat wildly echoing the sounds of the thunder mingling with the distant pounding, deafening the already terrified soldiers. Towards the front lines waited the mabari hounds and their trainers, and even they seemed restless this night. They pawed the ground and whimpered uncharacteristically for their fearsome breed. Among the rows of warriors, the Chantry sisters stepped in solemn grace, saying prayers and repeating the chant of light, calling for the Maker's blessing. But even the Maker himself could not prepare the men for what they saw, creeping steadily through the trees, forming seemingly from the surrounding fog itself…_

_An army of darkspawn in black armor, with wretched and twisted faces snarling in hatred, materialized through the forest, the thudding—not drums—but the sound of their armor clad boots pounding into the browning earth. Feral snarls and growls filled the night air as the monsters strained hard not to rush their opponents with wicked glee, thirsting for blood. A blood-curdling roar rose from behind the bulk of the army and the most horrendous thing the men had ever seen came crashing through the dense trees. Towering twice the height of a man, with twisted horns tapering to sharply pointed prongs, eyes wild and demonic, bulging muscles outlined by large purple veins, and its mouth—a gaping orifice—filled with pointed and blackened fangs lumbered out into the open, glaring across the field at the army of awaiting soldiers and Grey Wardens alike. It bellowed out a challenging roar that seemed to shake the very ground upon which they stood and as if on cue, others like it hurtled through the Wilds into plain view of the army, each bellowing aloud as if in response to the first one, and each of them barely containing an unharnessed, unbridled rage and passion to kill…_

_Duncan and King Cailan pushed through the ranks of the Warden's army, now beginning to shuffle in uneasiness. Some of the men and women who were able to catch sight of him were heartened at his presence. They would stand by their king. But would that be enough? King Cailan watched the approaching darkspawn hoard and an angry snarl curled upon his lip and he cursed under his breath. Duncan, standing stalwartly at his side, said resolutely,_

"_The plan will work, Your Majesty,"_

"_Of course it will!" Cailan hissed, "The Blight ends here!" his voice carried across to the men nearest him. He turned and saw the fear in their eyes, but also present was the lingering loyalty that kept them there. It inspired him and he wished for a moment that he could say something to them—motivate them and encourage them. He shook his head at the thought. The Blight would soon be over and there would be time for words in the days to come._

_The darkspawn across the way grew restless and their persistent shrieks grew to a piercing level. The unholy commotion continued as the storm clouds gathered into black swirling pools above them and lightning streaked across the sky with a terrifying vengeance. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as King Cailan stared down his enemies. There were so many… the cacophony they raised was ghoulish and bone-chilling…like their very voices were straining to bring the walls of the old keep crumbling down around them. The freezing wind carried their voices away for a brief instant…_

_And then it stopped._

_The King's head snapped quickly over in time to catch one of the armored darkspawn flailing its hands in a signal. Another shout rose up and with reckless abandon, the horde charged the keep. King Cailan raised his hand and shouted, "Archers!"_

_Several hundred bows lined across the back of the battalion dipped their arrows in oil and then a young warrior ran by with a torch, lighting them. They set their stance and readied their bows, aiming at the sky, knowing the trajectory and gravity would guide the arrows into the bulk of the darkspawn army. At the King's command, the flaming arrows were unleashed, lighting the sky with the intensity of their heat and slamming into the monsters, stopping several hundred dead in their tracks. Undeterred, the darkspawn kept coming. _

"_Hounds!" rang the next command, and the mabari were then unleashed to tear into the charging mass of darkspawn. Their growls and vicious barks mingled with the gurgled shrieks of the monsters rushing at them, both barbaric and feral. They met in a flurry of growls and snarls, crashing into each other, the sounds of their struggles echoing across the field. And still, even after facing the mabari, the darkspawn pressed onward._

_King Cailan knew he had to call the signal. If there ever was a time for words, he had missed it. Now was a time for war, for blood, for death…_

"_For Ferelden!" He shouted fiercely, drawing his sword; and the echoing shouts of the men and women standing with him followed him as the brave warriors charged the waiting darkspawn horde with impassioned vigor._

_And then it began to rain…_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Alistair and Karia ran to the bridge overlooking the battlefield and leading to the eastern side of Ostagar where the tower of Ishal stood. They reached it in time to see the king's archers unleash an angry swarm of arrows. Below, they could hear the shouts and cries—and now the anguished screams of dying darkspwn—ringing through the ruin.

"Come on," Alistair said, his voice pulling Karia away from watching the field with breathless terror, "We need to cross this bridge to get to the Tower of Ishal—we're nearly there." And she wordlessly followed him. _Almost there…_

And then all hell broke loose…

One man's voice, below, screamed a warning to the archers, mages, and those manning the ballistae just before a boulder, wreathed in flames, crashed into the bridge, shaking the structure, and killing many. Screams of men burning now combined with the screams of the wounded and dying below, and Karia was nearly knocked to her knees by a swarm of men rushing to replace those who were lost. Confusion and fear permeated the air so thickly, she swore it was almost tangible—she could _feel_ it, _taste _it…Maker knows, she could _hear_ it…

"We've got to get across quickly!" Alistair shouted about the noise of the battle, "Are you all right?"

She nodded, knowing her voice wouldn't carry the few feet away he stood. They braced themselves as another boulder tumbled into the bridge, crumbling another section of the age-old stone away, leaving just enough of a space for someone to run across. At once, they began running, dodging the incoming missiles from behind sections of fallen stone, broken ballistae, and anything else they could. They were nearly across when another stone came hurtling through the air and struck the bridge section directly ahead of them. The impact knocked them both backwards, dazed. Karia groaned and sat up painfully, favoring her left arm. She looked behind to see what she had fallen on, and was horrified to find a corpse's wild eyes staring unseeing back at her. She screamed and leapt to her feet, backing into Alistair. His face was covered in soot and a bruise already covered his jaw. He didn't even ask if she was all right. Of course she wouldn't be—but they had no time to spare now.

Scrambling, now, they crossed the chasm and up the causeway into the courtyard proper of the Tower of Ishal. Alistair stopped dead in his tracks, drawing his sword, "Something isn't right…"

She cocked her head, feeling an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, "What is it?"

"I sense…well…of course, darkspawn…but…nearer…" his brows furrowed as he tried to piece everything together, "Like they're here at the Tower and not in the field,"

Karia's eyes widened, and she hastily drew her sword, seeing suddenly behind the man the answer to Alistair's confusion. There _were_ darkspawn-_here!_ She called his name in warning, and the young Warden spun around, lobbing the head off of the nearest one, and running the next one through the heart with the tip of his sword. Karia found herself surrounded by angry genlocks, attacking with furious rage. Wordlessly, the Wardens drew closer, back-to-back, defending each other and attacking by turns. When the last enemy had fallen, Alistair cast scowls across the darkspawn-littered clearing,

"This…this isn't supposed to be!" he complained at no one in particular, "The battle is at the front gates, not the Tower. If they've already taken the tower then…" he shook his head, "No, they're not supposed to be here."

Karia walked around from his back to face him. His coffee colored eyes were smoldering and his normally casual stance was uptight with apprehension and anger. She attempted a small smile, "Well, you _did _say that you were disappointed that you couldn't have been in the battle." He turned to look down at her and she continued, "The battle came to _you._"

A slow smile spread across his face, "I guess there is a silver lining to this after all," the smile darkened, "But what are they doing _here_?"

She sighed, "You could always tell them they're in the wrong place,"

"Yes! That's it!" the sparkle returned, "It was all just a big misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this in the future," he released a deep breath, "Well…we should go. We still have to light that beacon," He started to walk away, stepping over a few dead darkspawn bodies in the process. It struck him suddenly how many bodies were around him and his brows furrowing as he processed what they had done that would have caused such havoc among the monsters. He turned to see Karia sheathing her daggers and gave her one more grin, "By the way, I think we work well together,"

Karia chuckled at his exclamation of approval and they continued to cross the courtyard to the Tower door. Another battle was taking place just at the steps of the door. A mage and another soldier—possibly the two that Loghain had placed to light the beacon—were being overwhelmed by the darkspawn. With a battle cry, Alistair drew his sword and charged into the fray, Karia following cautiously, once again defending the other Warden's back.

They fell easily—a surprise to Karia. It bolstered her courage to keep swinging, keep fighting. It also helped to know that Alistair was close at hand, defending her just as she was defending him by cutting down the ones attacking from the rear. She lifted her shield to deflect the numerous blows they were giving, and she met each of them with a practiced swing of her own. One lunged forward and she thrust her sword at it, using the monster's own momentum against it. It gurgled as it fell, tripping another behind it and giving her the chance she needed to hew it down. At long last, the last of them fell as the mage sent an orb of blue fire slamming into a hurlock's chest. It raged, grappling at the burning hole in its body before crashing unceremoniously onto the ground. Karia was panting heavily from the exertion and leaned heavily against the tower wall.

The other Warden was questioning the mage, "What happened?"

"They—they popped out of nowhere! The tower is taken; there's no hope for it,"

"Taken?"

With wild eyes, the mage recounted what happened, "We were stationed here, as an extended defense should the battle spread out this way. But the battle _started_ here." His voice rose as he teetered on the brink of panic, "The…the tower was being…er…renovated, I guess. They were still excavating some of the lower levels. Something—something went wrong," he shook his head, his hands massaging his temples as he tried to remember the details, "There was an explosion and suddenly everything went up in flames. The mages next to me were slain instantly and out of the deep came these _fiends_. They're everywhere! All over the tower—and still coming from below. They…they might have stopped and directed their paths to the front lines. But the tower is taken,"

Alistair growled an expletive, "The beacon needs to be lit."

"Don't go in there!" The soldier warned, "Choose your battles wisely, man, and forget it,"

Alistair spun around to confront the man, but Karia had intercepted him, "We're running out of time. We need to go, _now_."

"Right," he cleared his throat, "But before we go—mage!" the man in the circle robes turned in his retreat, "Spare a healing spell?" Alistair pulled Karia forward, "Your left arm has a huge burn from when we were on the bridge—show him," Timidly, she obeyed and felt the cooling, searing effects of the magic working. She gasped when she looked again and saw the ugly burn replaced by new skin—completely healed. Alistair thanked him and the two Wardens continued into the Tower of Ishal, with Karia still gawking at her arm.

The inside of the tower was dark and, as the mage had said, in flames. The scent of smoke and death permeated the air. Karia coughed softly and covered her mouth with a gloved hand when she saw the wooden pikes in the middle of a large darkspawn totem with several soldier's heads speared on them. Alistair swallowed hard and said in a low whisper, "Let's find the stairs…"

The elfin Warden nodded, feeling suddenly claustrophobic inside the confining walls of the Tower. She gazed around her as she and Alistair cautiously delved deeper inside. The ceiling of the first floor rose possibly thirty feet above them, and the dark grey stone was rough and jagged from years of abuse from both me and the harsh climate of Ferelden. She could see more smoke filtering towards them from outside the antechamber and she went to investigate, not finding any stairs in their immediate vicinity. For all that the tower seemed narrow, the inside was more expansive than she had originally assumed.

Karia rounded the corner and was bowled over into Alistair by a gust of heated air from a nearby explosion. He helped her stand and readied his weapon for an attack. In the next room, which opened in another wide circle, were another small group of darkspawn—one of them bearing a magic staff. Alistair rushed forward to attack, tripping over a line trap and setting off a green cloud of poisonous fumes, thus alerting the darkspawn to their presence and choking both Grey Wardens. Karia, who had been behind him, was not affected as badly as he, for she had not been beside him when it triggered.

Still covering her mouth and trying not to breathe in, Karia bent down to help rescue her fallen fellow Warden. The poison was already in his lungs and he couldn't breathe let alone stand to escape. She knew she couldn't pull him out of the infected area before the darkspawn across the way reached them, so she was relying on a hope that he could at least stand. Coughing and spluttering, he picked up his sword, leaning heavily on her slight shoulder for balance while he struggled for breath. She passed him her shield, "Cover me!" drawing her own weapon and lashing out at the first darkspawn to reach her. It was unlucky enough to be knocked aside, inhaling the deep fumes and falling prey to its deadly effects. Her sword pierced another, killing it. It stuck on her blade and she had to kick it in order to free her arm. This delay caused her to turn too late to see one more about to stab her through, but Alistair raised the shield, bashing its skull and leaving it senseless and bleeding to death on the floor. She nodded her thanks and he bravely gave her a grin, "Usually a horde of darkspawn isn't the kind of thing to leave a man breathless…"

The girl looked up at him in surprise. His voice was raspy, but it held its usual lightness. For a moment, she just stared, and then she burst out into a laugh. It was odd, considering how close to death they were. Alistair smiled, quite pleased with himself, _That was the loudest laugh I've ever heard from her…_ She shook her head and was still chuckling when she turned to walk away. The laugh, however, was soon replaced with a scream as a blue orb of electricity slammed into her stomach, knocking her onto her back and leaving her writhing in pain on the floor. Alistair's ire rose as he searched the room for the culprit. One genlock remained and it pointed its dark black magic staff at the lone man, sparks flaring from the tip of the weapon. Alistair raised his shield and maneuvered closer to the beast. It shot flare after flare at the man, but he deflected the attacks with his shield, just waiting for the chance to attack. Alistair managed to corner the genlock mage and, taking a chance, he thrust his shield forward, knocking the staff from its hands, and then thrust his sword into the beast's neck, slaying it instantly.

Without pausing, Alistair ran back over to where Karia sat, still gasping for breath, on the floor. One arm was wrapped around her stomach and she winced when she shifted. He dropped to his knees beside her, "That blast—are you—"

She raised her free hand to stop his query, "I'm fine…just…it smarts…"

Alistair was torn between his impatience to reach the beacon and his concern for his fellow Warden's wellbeing. Karia understood this and firmly requested his help in standing. He helped her to her feet and waited while the dizziness she felt passed. She brushed aside the hand he offered to help steady her and then began trudging forward, knowing that the stairs were definitely nearby. He followed closely hoping to deflect any more attacks aimed at the elf girl beside him.

The rest of the level was quiet save for the room adjacent the staircase. In the middle of the floor was a cavernous fissure with burnt ladders and rope surrounding it. Karia surmised that this was the excavation site that the mage had mentioned. Curiously, she peered over the edge and saw only blackness, but below she could _hear_ the whistling wind and _feel _a cool breeze brushing her face, moving wisps of her pony-tailed auburn hair aside. Other than that, she could discern no immediate threat. Apparently, the real threat had already moved up one level above them.

Opening the next door, Alistair slew the two waiting darkspawn before they hastened up the chiseled stone stairs. The next level was no less dangerous than the first. As soon as they ascended, a small swarm of darkspawn came lumbering at them. With an unspoken agreement, they fell into position: Alistair taking lead, but the both of them back to back, guarding each other's flank. Alistair fought fiercely, taking the brunt of the genlocks' force, while Karia was struggling with the more subtle ones who thought they could outmaneuver the first warrior. Working together, their shields used both as shelters and weapons and their swords slicing into anything crazy enough to get near, the skirmish was over quickly with each Warden remaining relatively unharmed.

Up to the third floor they raced, knowing that time was running short. Halfway up the stairs, Karia thought she heard the distant barking of dogs. She was unable to tell how close they were though, for as they burst through the next set of doors, the darkspawn were on them again. Two hurlocks slammed into Alistair, knocking him back against a wall. He felt the wind race out of him from the impact, but fought to stay alive as they rammed heavy blows at him using all manner of useless rubble scattered across the stony floor. He managed a feint at one, tricking it into moving left, giving him enough room to duck and shove between them and swinging his blade in a wide powerful cut to decapitate both of his opponents. When he turned around, the elfin Warden was nowhere to be found, but the horrific snarls and barks from the next room gave him a good indication of where to start looking. Alistair barreled towards the next room hoping he wasn't too late.

Karia, who had gone unnoticed, initially, had been ambushed while trying to reach Alistair by two genlocks that had been too slow to keep up with the hurlock's long legged pace. She hadn't been backed into a corner, but slammed through the adjacent door, splintering the wood and possibly fracturing a rib, and was desperately fighting tooth and nail to stay alive as five more genlocks hurtled into the fray. Her only hope at staying alive was the lever that would open the cages of the three mabari hounds barking viciously in their cages. But she couldn't quite reach it as they had her cornered across the room. _I knew I heard dogs!_ She thought as she angrily tried to maneuver herself out of the monster's reach. She already had a nasty cut on her cheek, and blood was pouring from another wound on her side. She ached in every part of her body, but the adrenaline from the action kept her one step ahead of the beasts swarming around her. By the time Alistair arrived, she was standing on a pile of crates, darkspawn hoarding around with several more pouring through the doors at the end of the hall, and her sword and shield slamming and stabbing every darkspawn that was within her range. He would have kept running to her rescue, but she raised her voice in a shriek,

"Alistair! The lever! Release the hounds!"

The man wheeled in midstride and practically threw himself at the wooden lever in his haste to reach the young woman. The dogs, eager to be freed, burst from their prisons and rammed into the bevy of wretched monsters, their jaws tearing and their claws ripping and rending flesh from bone. One massive dog flung itself into a particularly large Hurlock and it crashed into the crates upon which Karia stood. She screamed as the wood gave way beneath her and she toppled into the frenzy of furious mabari hounds and screeching darkspawn. She curled into a ball, trying to avoid being trampled. Several times she was kicked or tripped over until two strong arms lifted her out of the mess: _Alistair._

He deposited her in a safe corner before charging back into the madness to slay the few remaining darkspawn. The dogs, seeming to recognize either the uniform or the scent of the two Wardens, did not challenge them. Karia, while Alistair was not looking, unbuckled the side of her armor, ripping a piece of her undershirt to press into her injured side. The steady flow of blood was already down to a trickle, but it stung more than anything she had ever felt before. Growing up in the alienage, she had seen many serious wounds since crime was a part of the lifestyle there, being a poorly maintained part of society. She had dressed wounds like this before, but had never received one. It was horrible. She was already light headed from the loss of blood, and her hands were shaking with the effort of keeping the make-shift bandage in place.

Alistair returned, then, and noticed what she was doing. He offered to help, but then he seemed to see something that made him balk. Mutely, he handed her clean bandages from his pack, averting his gaze from her completely. She quickly set the bandages and buckled her armor again, standing before her body could convince her to collapse. Alistair was blushing when she looked at him again. He could barely look her in the eyes as it was and now…

_Oh, Maker…_he gulped_, I really do hope she's all right…that was a lot of blood…if I had just been a little faster, then maybe…but that's not why you're so bloody embarrassed is it?_

Karia's voice interrupted his thoughts, "We need to hurry. How many more levels?"

"The next is the last one," he replied, "Are you sure you can make it? You can wait here for me, and after I light the beacon, I'll come back for you,"

She nodded at a few small wounds of his own, "If you can make it, so can I. Let's go." and they sprinted up the stairs together. They burst through the last door, expecting another small army of darkspawn, but they were definitely not prepared to find what was _really_ waiting for them.

Bent over in the center of the room was the massive bulk of an ogre, its huge muscles rippling as it groped at something on the ground. Red juice—that Karia assumed was blood—spurted when the beast clamped the person, or _thing_, in its fist and shoved it in its mouth. She gasped after noticing the various body parts and ripped flesh scattered across the tower floor. At the sharp sound, the ogre's colossal head snapped to the side, two giant eyes seeking the source of disturbance. It slowly turned its substantial mass to face them and bellowed, bits of whatever it had just eaten flying out of its gaping maw. Alistair pulled her behind him and they scrambled away just in time to avoid the beast's deadly horns charging them.

It was a game of cat and mouse for a while, as the two Grey Wardens dodged and evaded the giant's attacks. Karia was weary and quickly losing the fast reflexes she had begun with. Formulating a plan as, once again, the monster attacked, she called out to Alistair, "Split up—when he charges next, we'll run separate ways and attack from there."

He nodded, understanding her reasoning. They waited until it thrust its horns at them once again and both jumped in separate directions. The beast, disoriented and confused as to which to follow, did not immediately give chase, allowing Alistair to launch an attack at the ogre's flank. It roared in fury and pain, swinging to catch the irritant. Its massive hand collided with him and sent him tumbling across the floor. The monster did just as Karia suspected and gave chase. She took that moment to attack its other flank, sinking her blade deeply into its side. Again it cried, and swung at her. It missed and she rolled underneath it. Large hands swatted the ground, trying to catch her. When it had turned its back to Alistair, he leaped onto its back, and tried to sink his blade into its skull. Startled, the ogre began swinging its massive torso and the young man held on for dear life, succeeding in only penetrating its neck. It howled and flailed its arms madly as it tried to cast the nuisance from its shoulders. Eventually, Alistair lost his grip and was again thrown, this time being cast against the stone wall. He groaned, shakily tried to sit up, but then collapsed.

Karia felt her heart stop for a moment, when she saw him lying there on the floor. But the situation demanded her attention. The ogre was still trying to remove the blade sunk between its shoulder blades. With renewed determination, she ran towards the lumbering beast, taking a running leap onto its back. Evading the swatting hands, she grasped the sword and plunged it deeper. This only enraged the ogre further, adding to its painful wails. Sure she had the hilt firmly in hand, Karia swung over the ogre's shoulder and dangled across its chest. The blade shifted from her weight and slit a deep, lethal gash in the ogre's neck, severing its spinal cord and jugular. Its cry of rage turned into a muffled burble as blood came gushing from the wound. Karia had only barely enough time to disengage herself and the weapon before the monster toppled forward, _dead._ Breathing in mewing gasps from pain and exhaustion, Karia cast one of the nearby torches into the fire pit—kindling a blazing fire in the beacon for a signal to Teyrn Loghain to begin his attack. _At last!_

Dropping to her knees, she crawled to where her fellow Warden still lay inert. She gingerly rolled him onto his back and was relieved to hear him cough. He groaned again and his eyes fluttered open struggling to come into focus on the woman hovering over him. His gaze traveled across the room to where the dead ogre lay and he murmured, "Your doing, I suppose?"

She nodded, "Yes—how badly are you injured? Did you break anything?" she worriedly asked, looking him over.

Alistair shook his head with a hoarse chuckle, "Nothing else injured more than my pride. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head, "Nothing else _important_ anyway…" Karia was more relieved that his sense of humor was still intact than anything else. He lifted a brow at her, "How on earth _did_ you kill that stinking heap of ugliness, anyway?"

Shrugging, she replied, "Easily—your sword was just in the perfect place,"

He tilted his head, not understanding and she explained the maneuver she used in order to slit the monster's throat. Alistair was impressed—_more _ than impressed. He was completely flabbergasted. He couldn't help his eyes traveling up and down her slight form as he tried to comprehend how just a bit of a thing could best a beast like what had knocked the wind right out of him. Giving her a broad grin, he chuckled, "Remind me to never get on your bad side,"

Karia gave him a weak smile, "I'm too tired to keep tabs on that anyhow…" and Alistair's grin faded,

"Here I am all knocked out and you're the one with the gaping hole in your side listening to me moan about it," he chided, "Come on, you can lie by the fire—you're shivering and this tower is one blasted gloomy place to wait out a battle."

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

_Duncan stood amidst a horde of slaughtered bodies, darkspawn and soldier alike. The swords in his hand were stained red with blood, matching his armor and face. Some of it was his; most of it was not. Around him, the battle raged sorely. Screams from wounded soldiers filled his ears and sent chills down running down his spine. The field was a bloody mess—shattered bodies, soulless eyes wide and frightened, watched without seeing the carnage ensuing around them. _

_King Cailan was fighting bravely just a few yards away from Duncan. He seemed to be tireless as he met each furious darkspawn with a vengeance and he fought as hard, and even harder, than the men laboring around him. But the hard truth was that their numbers were dwindling rapidly. They had been pushed back to the side of the ruin and their line was spread thin across the field. The signal should have been given, but the Tower had not yet been lit as of yet. He engaged in combat with a few more hurlocks and had just finished slaying them when another ogre came crashing towards them. King Cailan, distracted by his own swarm of darkspawn around him, could not react to the brute. It took advantage of this and reached down and snatched up the king. Cailan struggled, defiance blazing in his eyes, but the ogre's grasp outmatched the king's rebellion. It crushed him and tossed him aside like a ragdoll, and the king was left on the field soaked and dying in his own blood. _

_Duncan, on his knees from exhaustion and a deep wound in his side, felt his stomach lurch. "My king!" he gasped. In anger, he glared at the ogre and dug deep within himself, drawing upon his last reserve of strength. He ran at the beast, his swords drawn and at the ready. When he was near enough, he leaped onto its massive front, sinking his twin blades into its cavernous chest. The monster screamed in rage, but Duncan kept climbing, plunging his dagger multiple times into the brute's blackened heart. In one final rage, it threw the Grey Warden aside before falling to its own death. _

_The old Warden dragged himself to the king's side, protectively kneeling over him as he watched the battle raging around him. The last of the soldiers were fighting desperately, but their struggles were not enough. They, too, were soon hewn down and tossed aside as the undaunted bulk of the darkspawn army came charging at the walls. Duncan's eyes flickered again to the Tower—this time it was blazing brilliantly…but there was no help to be found. The only army Duncan could see was the dreaded black one , thick like a curtain, still marching on. His lips curled in defiance and he stared as a darkspawn general wielding an axe came hurtling after him. _

"_In war, victory…" his thoughts echoed. Two lone Wardens still manned the Tower of Ishal…he prayed that they lived to see such promise—perhaps even lead Ferelden to it…_

"_In peace, vigilance…" he prayed the two Wardens would learn from the mistakes of his Order—that they would remain attentive to the darkspawn threat…that their Order would thrive under their leadership and guidance._

"_In death…" Duncan could not defend himself when the darkspawn general arrived, but his eyes burned holes into the monster and he refused to cower to it. It roared and swung its axe down at Duncan and the last thought he had before he met his Maker rang, "Sacrifice!"_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Karia and Alistair sat together before the fire, heedless of the slaughter taking place beneath them until the doors behind them burst open. Alistair was the first to react, but was overwhelmed by yet another wave of darkspawn before his weapons could be drawn. The elf girl screamed his name and stood to run to his aid but was struck down with three arrows to her chest. She cried out in from the searing pain and collapsed on the floor. The room was spinning, the colors blurred, her eyes darkened…

And then the blissful blackness claimed her…


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Yet another chapter, and right before the new year! If you felt the last chapter lacked conversation, this one has plenty of it. :) A great big thanks to all of my readers! I would appreciate any tips or concerns that you have. Still new at this...help! I hope you all have a fantastic day! After this is published, I'm off to watch Lord of the Rings. Wonderful! Enjoy chapter 9!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

_Screams, blood, pain, rage…the flight of fire arrows piercing the black horde beneath the bridge—burning boulders striking and crumbling away parts of the tower—darkspawn swarming the courtyard—the hounds' fierce cries and ripping claws—the death and gore filling every part of the tower—the ogre—the ambush—Alistair falling before the darkspawn's attacks…_

_Alistair? _

Karia moaned as she came fully into the waking world, aroused from the series of nightmarish realities flashing through her mind. She was surrounded in something soft and warm, a complete abstract from what she remembered of the turret. _Am I dead? I must be…_ but when she shifted, she felt the soreness in her joints and every conceivable muscle in her body. _Definitely not dead…_ Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she gasped when they focused on a familiar dark-haired women:

_Morrigan!_

"Ah, you awake at last, I see," said the witch in a light unconcerned tone, "Mother was right about you,"

Karia sat up gingerly, flinching when she again felt the stiffness in her muscles, although she gratefully acknowledged that the searing pain from before had vanished. She glanced around the small room-so different from the circular tower. _This must be that hut in the Wilds…_she thought, remembering the brief visit with the old witch. A fire was crackling in the far end of the room with a pleasant warmth radiating around it and, considering the location, it was almost welcoming. A small cast iron stove was lit in another corner and the entire perimeter of the place was littered with bookshelves. Dusty tomes were scattered across every nook and cranny. Karia cast a glance at one, but it was written in an illegible script—or else it was in a completely different language, or more likely, a mixture of both. Her brows furrowed as she tried to bring her thoughts into focus. Something was missing. Aside from Morrigan, she was the only other person in the room. Fear gripped her heart with an icy fist,

"Wh-where's Alistair?"

The witch sniffed disdainfully, "You mean the suspicious and dim-witted, whiny one?" at Karia's scowl, a small smile curled her lips, "He is outside,"

The elfin girl released a long breath of relief, "Is he all right?"

"He is just as you are,"

Taking that as a positive response, she ran a slim hand through her tangled hair. Glancing around again, she adjusted herself to the fact that she was no longer fighting for her life. Reminders of it littered the room, however-bloody rags soaking in a bin, three darkspawn arrows lying beside them, and her sword along with them. Her armor was piled on the floor beside the bed, and for the first time she noticed that she was wearing a large tunic and cloth pants. It occurred to her to ask, but Morrigan was already explaining. "That is your fellow Warden's shirt. He had a spare one in his pack and allowed us to use it. Since the one you were wearing was bloody and torn, we assumed you wouldn't want to keep it. It was beyond salvaging. "

Karia nodded, feeling that there was something more important that she should have remembered. Her head pounded between her eyes and she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose gently. It was distracting and irritating. Such as it was, it had further scattered her already disorganized thoughts. She pushed herself to remember. _The beacon…after we lit the beacon, what happened? _She felt closer to an answer along this thread of thought, _we were ambushed by darkspawn, yes…and I remember bits and pieces—mostly of pain. _She tensed as the realization sank in…they had no knowledge of the battle after that.

"The battle!" she exclaimed suddenly, "What happened after we lit the beacon? Do you know?"

Morrigan shook her head, "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field…" she drawled, but not unkindly, "The darkspawn won your battle,"

The elf shook her head in disbelief, "No…that can't be…" The dull ache in her heart returned, "Were…were there any survivors?"

"No," was the harsh response, and Karia felt the tears begin to form in her eyes, "Those lucky enough to escape have had to cross an entire forest surrounded with darkspawn, and the dead…" Morrigan shook her head, seeming to be disturbed, "You would not wish to see the field and what they are doing. The darkspawn are vicious, evil creatures,"

"Duncan? The Grey Warden Commander?"

"None survived," the witch insisted, "He is dead."

Karia covered her face with her hands. It was too much to absorb all at once. _Duncan…dead? King Calian?_ How could they all simply be _gone?_ She touched the amulet still encircled around her neck—the only thing of hers that was left on her body. Morrigan frowned, "It burned my hand when I touched it. Mother said to leave it on you," Karia gratefully fingered it. It was the last thing she had left to hold on to…

_I'm a curse, aren't I?_ she grieved silently, _Everyone I know…all of them gone or…inaccessible. I can't go back to the alienage. They'll kill me. And…and now the only other home I could have possibly had is lying in that field at Ostagar…dead…_she felt the tears moistening her palms, _What do I do now? Where can I go?_ She felt the amulet warm at her throat, _I'm a Grey Warden now…and there's no changing that…whatever that means..._

Uncomfortable with the silence and the young elf's change of mood, Morrigan cleared her throat and said, "Mother wanted to see you. She is waiting outside,"

Sniffling back her tears, Karia nodded, "I will go, then,"

"I will stay," said the witch, "and make something to eat,"

Karia scooted to dangle her legs off the side of the bed and took a deep breath, _I can't fall apart now…not ever…I won't. The Blight killed those brave Wardens, and Teyrn Loghain will pay for his treason…Duncan…Duncan will not have died in vain._ She determinedly wiped the trace of tears from her eyes before putting her armor on. Buckling the side straps and lacing her vambraces and greaves, she turned to Morrigan who was bent over the stove, stirring some herbs into a stew, "Morrigan?" and the witch turned expectantly, waiting for Karia to continue. The elf tipped her head a little, "Thank you,"

This was not what the apostate had expected to hear. She cocked her head and her brows furrowed, as though not understanding what she had just heard. She fumbled for words, "You…you are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work—I am no healer,"

"All the same," Karia insisted, "Thanks,"

Morrigan pretended not to listen to her, but the blush at the tips of her ears ensured Karia that she had heard.

Stepping outside, Karia had to raise her hand to shade her eyes from the intensity of the sunlight. And even after doing so, it was hard to see. To her left, she could hear the older witch cackle, "And there's your fellow Warden now," Karia blinked rapidly, her eyes beginning to adjust. She looked at the witch, but the old woman was looking elsewhere, "You worry too much, young man."

Karia followed the woman's gaze. Several yards ahead of her was a tall young man. He turned slowly and his dark, tawny eyes widened when he saw her—_Alistair!_

"You…" he could barely speak, "You're alive," his expression and voice were filled with disbelief and wonder, "I thought you were dead for sure…"

She nodded, unable to reply. Seeing him there…alive…gave her more relief than she thought possible. _I'm not alone…_ She approached him, timidly, and he took a step towards her as well, as though to observe for himself that she was, indeed, there—in person, and not just a figment of his imagination. When she was close enough, he lifted her chin with a gentle hand, "You're all right, then?"

Again, she nodded. Karia turned her face from his hand, determined that he would not see her fall apart. She could not look at him—those eyes of his would see right through her, for sure. She nodded once more, keeping her voice low, "I'm…I'm all right. Thank you for your concern,"

Alistair stiffened a little, feeling as though he had overstepped his bounds somehow. He already felt like a mess and he didn't want to create another one with the elfin girl…they were the last two Wardens in Ferelden, after all. He couldn't afford to lose her through his own stupidity. This drew him back to the present, "Thanks to Morrigan and her Mother—we couldn't have survived without them."

"You do realize," snapped the old woman, "that I am standing right here?'

The young man seemed startled. Apparently, he _had_ forgotten, "Oh, I don't mean to—it's just—you've never given us your name,"

"Names are pretty," she conceded, "but useless." The old woman crossed her arms, "You may call me Flemeth, though, if you prefer."

This seemed to stir a memory within him, and his brows furrowed deeper, "Wait…you mean you're _the_ Flemeth?" he shook his head, muttering to himself, "So Daveth was right…" pointing, his voice rose, "You're the Witch of the Wilds."

Sniffing aside his accusation, she sighed, "And what is that supposed to mean? I know some magic and it has served me well. I am sure you and the other Warden can certainly not argue this."

Alistair had to agree as he glanced down at Karia. She had wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, and, even in her armor, looked so completely small and vulnerable…

"Then…I suppose we should thank you, Flemeth," the girl said softly.

The witch laughed harshly, "If you know what's good for you, then, yes, I suppose you should."

There was more silence before Karia pressed the old woman again, "How did you save us? And…and why?"

Acerbically, the old woman answered, "I don't see how this is important, but I will answer," she relaxed her posture before continuing, "I transformed myself into a bird and flew to the Tower of Ishal, flying over the battlefield. I swooped down and rescued the both of you and brought you back here, "

Beside her, Karia could hear Alistair grumbling under his breath, "I guess swooping isn't all _that_ bad after all…" but the witch was still speaking.

"As to _why_, it would be foolish to have all of Ferelden's Grey Wardens dying all at once. Someone has to deal with these darkspawn, and that is your duty, isn't it? Or did this change while I wasn't looking?" she scowled at them, her voice growing cold.

Alistair returned the glare, "That's what we _were_ doing until Loghain pulled his little stunt. We almost had them defeated!" his eyes were burning coals now, smoldering in anger from the memory. Karia had to admit feeling great resentment as well. After all, weren't acclaimed heroes _supposed_ to rescue their king? Support him, at least? Loghain had been called a hero by many—but his actions proved he was otherwise.

"Why would he do this?" she asked rhetoric ally. Flemeth, however, decided to address it,

"Now that, my dear, is a good question," her brows knitted together and her voice seemed to hold a wisp of regret and reminiscence, "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature…he obviously thinks that the Blight is an enemy he can outmaneuver—and he does not he see the evil behind it as being the true threat."

Karia felt suddenly very small and hopeless. Softly, she asked, "So…what can we do? Loghain is a hero—his story will have…_some_ merit among his followers. Who can we go to for help?"

"Arl Eamon would be furious if he knew what Loghain did! He'd never stand for it!" raged the knight Warden at her side, pounding his hand into his fist as though for emphasis.

Her brows furrowed. She knew this name, "Was he at this battle?"

It was Alistair's turn to think. He paused a moment, and then snapped his fingers, his face suddenly becoming animated, "No! Arl Eamon wasn't as Ostagar! He hadn't even left Redcliffe! He might still be there…" the elf could almost see the wheels of his brain turning as he mulled over his genius plan. He spoke now, more muted, as though he were just speaking aloud his myriad thoughts, "He was the King's Uncle—he will have a personal reason to see Loghain brought to justice…" Alistair smiled in triumph, "That's it! We shall travel to Redcliffe at once and appeal to Arl Eamon for help. He will know what to do in this situation."

Karia smiled at his exuberance, having a sudden brilliant thought of herself, "The treaties we rescued must be good for something!"

"Yes—to demand aid from…from…" the young man's eyes grew wider, "Everyone! Dwarves, Elves, Men, and the Circle of Magi were all agreed to help the Grey Wardens during a Blight! We can go to these different people and request their aid._"_

Flemeth raised a brow, "I don't know about you, but Dwarves, Elves, Mages, and such….this sounds like an army to me."

Alistair was going to remark when he noticed Karia's eyes—they _sparkled_. It was a brief moment, but it was there. In that one little instant he saw _hope_. She believed in what they were about to do. Truth be known, the task that they were undertaking was no small feat, yet she thought it was just within their grasp. It gave _him_ some small measure of hope as well. And a sudden desire to make those beautiful green eyes sparkle again, somehow.

They turned from their plans when Flemeth cleared her throat, "Before you go…" she eyed them pointedly, "I have one more thing that I can offer you…" She was about to continue when Morrigan stepped out, her chin high and disdainful,

"The stew is bubbling in the pot, Mother, and shall be done shortly." She arched an eyebrow, "Shall we be having two guests for supper," she turned her gaze to the Wardens and they could hear her distaste for them in her ending query, "or none?"

The old witch tisked, "Nonsense. The Grey Wardens shall be leaving shortly, and _you_ will be going with them,"

"Such a pity—_" _and then her eyes grew wide as realization of what her mother just said sank in, "_What?_" shrieked Morrigan, echoed by the muted and surprised tones of the Grey Wardens near her. Alistair and Karia exchanged confused and uncertain glances while Flemeth continued to speak to her daughter,

"You heard me, girl. The last time I checked, you had ears," she cackled, "Your magic will be useful to them—and they need to get past the horde _alive_. Who knows these Wilds better than you do,"

"Have _I _no say in this?" asked Morrigan angrily, "What if I wish to stay here?"

Her mother frowned, "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for some time now." When Morrigan began to protest, the witch held up her hand to stop her, "Don't deny it. I've watched you remember. Old Flemeth isn't as blind as she may seem. But now that the opportunity is thrown in your lap, you would cast it aside? Don't be a fool, girl."

"This isn't how I wanted to go!" she petulantly crossed her arms, "I'm not even ready,"

Alistair interjected, "Not to look a gift platypus in the mouth—"

"It's horse," Morrigan glared

"Right," he continued, seeming unperturbed, "But…won't having her along just _add _to our problems?" He looked to Karia for assistance, but she only gazed at him expectantly, refusing to be baited by either side, "After all…once we leave the Wilds, she is considered an apostate," He shrugged, "We'd be singled out because of an illegal mage."

Flemeth and Morrigan both cast dark glances at him, "If you had such great compunctions about taking help from illegal mages, then perhaps I should have have left you both to rot in that tower,"

The young man frowned, "Point…taken,"

Karia stepped forward, "We would appreciate any help we can get. It is…" she took a deep breath, steadying herself, "it is good to know that we are not alone in this, and that means more than you can ever know."

Flemeth smiled a jagged, ironic grin, "Don't I know?" and then her features hardened again, "I offer to you what is dearest to me. Do _you_ understand?"

The elfin girl nodded, "I understand. She won't come to harm with us."

Morrigan frowned again at the prospect, "But, Mother…"

"Don't, Morrigan," shushed the old woman, "They _need_ you…" her face softened, and the lines of her face eased, showing more than just an witch, but an old woman who knew of sacrifice, "These two are the only ones standing between Ferelden and the Blight now. They must somehow find a way to unite the country. If they fail…" she gestured at them, "then we _all_ will perish under the Blight," for a moment, her voice cracked, "Even I.."

Morrigan stopped her protests and sighed, "I…understand…" straightening her shoulders, she resumed in a cold tone of voice, "Let me just pack my things," and she turned on her heel to re-enter the hovel.

Karia watched the mysterious young witch disappear into the dark hut and she shifted uncomfortably. There was so much she didn't know about the Blight and the darkspawn and being a Grey Warden. She felt her head swimming trying to grapple for knowledge she knew she didn't possess. It occurred to her to ask her fellow Warden, but Alistair was staring moodily off into the distance, his moment of excitement past and overcome by the events that had transpired. Flemeth was still watching them with subdued interest and, since there was no one else to ask, she posed her confusion to the old woman,

"We are fighting a Blight…but..." Karia blushed, knowing just how foolish she sounded, "What is it? What causes it?"

Alistair turned to face her when he heard this, but it was Flemeth that answered, "A Blight is when the darkspawn rise to the surface and they are led by an Archdemon," she motioned for them to sit. Gingerly, Karia lowered herself onto an old tree stump. Alistair joined her after a brief moment of hesitation. Flemeth did not sit, but simply leaned against the small hut while she continued her explanation, "Their invasions have always occurred—occasionally small bands of them will brave the surface, but those insurgencies are always quickly ended by local militia."

"And what is an archdemon?"

The witch actually laughed at this, "You are _very_ new at this, aren't you," but before Karia could respond, she explained, "It is when the soul of an Old God is tainted and awakened within a darkspawn," her eyes shifted to look beyond them as she explained further, "It is said that, long ago, the Maker sent the old gods of the Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. And that is the darkspawn's playground, so to speak. When they meet, something abominable occurs. And…" she laughed ironically, "wouldn't you, as an old god imprisoned, feel resentment?" Karia swallowed at the tone she took, "It turns out the Maker's desire to remove them from the world only turned them into worse creatures than they were before. Rather than controlling men, the gods controlled monsters—creatures controlled by hateful and fearful emotions, and led armies to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world,"

"And the darkspawn follow them? How?"

The witch smiled grimly, "They are gods, girl…Evil, twisted things with a great bitterness towards the one that had them banished. They feed off of the darkspawn's worst attributes and use it to their advantage…" she shrugged, "In the end, if you were a creature of hate, it just makes sense that you would be drawn to something with a hate stronger than yours. Not only stronger, but the gods' entire personality is stronger. The darkspawn are…_weak_ creatures." She saw Karia's confusion and further explained, "They have simple thoughts—as an animal would," she waved a careless hand, "Occasionally, some are able to process thoughts better and are able to converse with others, but overall, they are little more than animals. They seek direction, and the gods give it. It is a simple concept once grasped."

Karia nodded as the concepts swirled around in her mind. She muddled them over for a few minutes before asking another, "Since they are gods…are they immortal then? They cannot be destroyed?"

Flemeth shook her head, "Oh, no. They can be destroyed. But by no natural means,"

Shaking his head in protest, Alistair cut in, "Not true at all. Grey Wardens have been slaying archdemons for years,"

Flemeth glared at the young knight, "I said no _natural_ means, boy," she sniffed, "Grey Wardens are not…_natural_ people,"

Both Wardens stared at her in confusion, and Karia was surprised when Alistair did not retort, allowing Flemeth to speak again, "A mortal may slay the physical body of a darkspawn, but its soul will live on," she paused for a moment, allowing their minds a few moments for the information to sink in, "The taint in you gives you an advantage. It—"

"I am ready," Morrigan announced, reappearing with a pack slung over her shoulder, along with the Grey Wardens' nearly emptied ones, and her magic staff in hand, "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens," she shifted her pack to be able to slide her staff into a small loop to hold it behind her, though it seemed it was still easily accessible, "There is a town not far from here, just north of the Wilds. I suggest we stop there first," Seeing Alistair's scowl, she crossed her arms challengingly, "Or, if you wish, I can just be your _silent_ guide… The choice is yours,"

Karia shook her head, "I would prefer you to speak your mind,"

Flemeth laughed heartily, "You will regret those words!" and Morrigan turned an angry glare in her mother's direction.

The Warden beside the elf asked with distaste, "Are you sure about this?"

"We need all the help we can possibly get," she assured him, "We won't be alone this way, see? We'll have just one more person at our side for this cause,"

"If you're sure…then…" he reluctantly conceded her point, "I suppose it is for the better,"

Morrigan cast golden eyes upon the man, "Well, I am _so_ glad to have _your_ approval," she antagonized, earning a deep grimace from the man. It pleased her.

"I think we should just get underway," Karia said, trying to ease the tensions she already felt growing in her little group, "How long will it take for us to reach Lothering?"

"We shall be there before nightfall tomorrow," was the answer.

The young witch turned to the older one, "Farewell, Mother," she tilted her head towards the house, "Do try to remember that the stew is on the fire. I would so hate to return with the hut burned to a crisp,"

"Bah!" spat the old woman, "'Tis far more likely that you will return to find the entire Wilds burnt—_and_ my hut—swallowed up by the Blight,"

Morrigan looked chastened, "I…I did not mean it like that…"

"I know," the Witch of the Wilds patted her daughter's cheek, "Go on, now. And _do_ try to have fun dear,"

The young apostate harrumphed and strode forward into the Wilds without further ado, leaving the Grey Wardens to grab their things and scramble along behind her. The old witch watched them go with a wistful chuckle. _Ah, to be young again…_ she thought as she watched the elfin girl's determined step and the way the other Warden followed behind her. _She will do great things…a pity she may not survive to realize it._ The witch-woman sighed as she watched the group disappear behind the trees. Slowly, she hobbled into her hut, _All this talk of war tires a woman. Darkspawn and demons and Blights—oh my!_ and cackling softly to herself muttered, "I am getting too old for such things…" she sniffed the stew bubbling in the pot and suddenly the extent of her loss dawned upon her and she grumbled, "And now I have to learn how to cook again…"


	10. Chapter 10

The trio had trekked in silence for some time, each grappling with their own thoughts. Ahead of the little elf Warden strode the stiff-backed apostate, stern and unapproachable, while the other young Warden shuffled despondently beside. It was uncomfortable…and _unnatural_. Especially for anyone who knew Alistair or had listened to anything Flemeth had insinuated. Karia sighed inwardly but was unwilling to break the stillness. The entire situation was uncomfortable enough without her feeble attempts at conversation.

An hour had passed since they had left Flemeth's hut, and still no sign of darkspawn. Either Morrigan was indeed an excellent guide, or the majority of the darkspawn had moved elsewhere. Karia was beginning to assume that it was both, for the young witch moved with an ease that spoke of one who was familiar and at home, while the Korcari Wilds themselves seemed less ominous than they ever had. Nor did she have two other men shivering and whispering behind her of dark things like witches and evil and demons, for that matter. And yet, she would have given anything to have them back with her again along with their restless antics and talks of sinister beings.

It was a painful reminder of a day that would haunt her for months to come—assuming she lived that long. All of the events that had occurred to her and around her, though ringing fresh in her mind and leaving her heart feeling as though it had been wrenched and beaten, seemed suddenly so far, far away. It felt as though it had happened to someone else. And perhaps it had. She had changed—perhaps not noticeably. But she wasn't the carefree elf she had been before Duncan found her. But then again, after Ostagar, _no one_ would be the same…ever again…

Suddenly, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her whole body felt a strange sensation, as though she were being surrounded by static electricity. Alistair, beside her, had put his hand to his sword and growled a warning to Morrigan, though she was already holding her staff at the ready. Questioningly, Karia glanced at the tall warrior,

"What is it?"

He narrowed his eyes, searching the woods, "Darkspawn…"

Completely alert now, she drew her sword and waited with bated breath for them to appear. But what actually _did_ appear surprised them all.

Just over a small crest line, four darkspawn charged them with weapons drawn and raised high in challenge. Alistair and Karia braced themselves for the battle while Morrigan began drawing energy for a spell. However, a moment before the three could attack, a large, mangy dog burst from the nearby shrubbery and hurled itself at the monsters, snarling fiercely. Startled, the darkspawn couldn't defend themselves and the fierce mabari hound shred their armor and ripped at their throats. It was quite a sight, albeit violent and gory. The entire ordeal was over within seconds.

Finally finished, the hound circled his victims and, finding a particularly mutilated one, lifted one hind leg to relieve himself on it. The three onlookers watched with curiosity and suspicion while the dog finished and kicked dirt on its finished business. After a moment, it turned to look them; and Alistair, wary of the beast, moved to stand protectively in front of Karia. It walked towards them and Karia opened her eyes wide in recognition. She pushed past Alistair and knelt on the ground, her arms outstretched in welcome. At this gesture, the dog barked happily. It bounded towards the elf with reckless glee and skidded to a stop before it crashed into her. She scratched behind its ears and one of its hind legs spazzed blissfully at the attention while Karia's other two companions watched in amazement.

"What is the meaning of this?" Morrigan snapped, "'Tis as if the beast knows you…"

"He does," Karia confirmed with a smile.

Alistair sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, relieved that the animal wasn't a rabid monster after all, "That's just amazing…he's bonded to you!"

The elf nodded and explained, "I was stopped by the kennel master and was able to see the dog when it was sick. I muzzled it for him and found a flower that helped to stop the darkspawn taint from poisoning it to death. And…" she laughed as the dog rolled over on its back, begging for a belly rub, "I guess he remembers me!"

The witch sighed impatiently, "Am I to understand that we are going to have this mangy mutt tagging along with us now?"

"He's not mangy," Alistair cooed, reaching down to pat the animal, "Are you, buddy…" he sweet-talked the dog and the animal didn't seem to mind the attention at all. Morrigan sighed in frustration,

"Can we at least get underway, again?" she grumped and the two Wardens stood reluctantly to oblige. Karia patted the dog's head one last time before she prepared to continue when a thought suddenly struck her.

The befuddlement on her face was very obvious leading Alistair to ask if there was a problem. She shook her head as a no, but confessed, "I don't know his name…"

Chuckling at her predicament, he suggested, "Give him a new one. By the way he looks at you, you could call him a flea bag and he wouldn't care," the dog growled when Alistair mentioned "flea bag," and the young man eyed the animal suspiciously, "Hey, do you think?" he shook his head, "No…he couldn't have…"

Karia smiled, "He understands. And I'm not going to call him a flea bag," A happy bark punctuated her statement as she thought for a moment, "I will call you…" she tapped the side of her chin with a hand, "Borvo…"

Morrigan seemed irritated, "And here I thought you would have called him Snuggles, no?" her sarcastic remark drew a scowl from Alistair, and the witch seemed content at least with that, if nothing else.

Calmly, the elf girl turned to her, "Borvo is the name of a god," she smiled when the mabari wagged its tail at the sound of her voice, "He is, as legend says, the god of the mineral and hot springs…the best thing I could think of because this one definitely needs a bath after that heroic performance," And Borvo barked in agreement.

Because Morrigan began tapping her toes in annoyance, Karia decided that it was best to indulge her and resume their travels. Once again, deep silence ensued, interspersed with occasional pants and yaps from the mabari now traveling with them. Karia released a long breath. At least now she had a more amiable companion. Not that she could blame the other two for being in their respective moods. Even hers felt more than negative on its own without any influence from theirs.

It was hard to think past their current situation, although she knew she had to start making future plans. Somehow. And soon. Karia was certain that Arl Eamon was definitely a stop on their list, but what of the other allies? She had no idea where to begin looking for them. Morrigan's whispered warning interrupted her,

"In less than a mile, we will be safely out of the Wilds," she stopped walking and turned to face them, "And we have almost three hours before sundown." A shadow of doubt passed her face before she spoke, "At the end of the Wilds ends my knowledge of any safe campsites, as well. We can continue, or stop at the Wild's edge."

Karia glanced at Alistair, but he only shrugged, eluding answering her by saying that he didn't care either way. She shook her head and decided quickly, "We need to keep going. The faster we get to Lothering, the better. We will stop if we see a suitable place along the way."

The witch nodded and continued leading them onward. Surprisingly, the rest of the journey passed relatively quickly. After they left the confining shelter of the Korcari Wilds, Karia couldn't believe how beautiful the afternoon sun could be. The days were becoming shorter and the nights longer as the summer season began to wane into the rising autumn months. Leaves were beginning the change on the sparse deciduous trees that they saw and the lush, green grass was beginning to yellow in places. It was as if the world was not yet aware that there was a Blight. It was still fresh and new and beautiful. All Karia had ever known of the world had been of the city. Traveling with Duncan had allowed her to see some of the nature that the confined life in an alienage missed. But then she had been rushing and confused…and while still confused and definitely a changed woman, there was a solace to be found in simple pleasures—such as a cool breeze on one's back and a soft ray of sunlight on one's face…

The dirt road they had decided to follow meandered through the open countryside, which was absolutely stunning to observe, but impractical for setting up camp. However, less than an hour before sunset, Karia spotted a small knoll surrounded by natural boulders and trees—a perfect place to pitch camp and yet still be inconspicuous. She alerted Morrigan and Alistair and they left the beaten path to investigate with the mabari trotting happily along behind them.

It proved to be adequate and they immediately settled in. None of them had bedrolls or tents and therefore camp assembly was hardly a hassle. Morrigan remained to gather herbs from her supplies and remove a few cooking utensils that she had the presence of mind to pack while Karia and Alistair scoured the area surrounding the camp for dry wood for Morrigan to light a fire and begin a meal. The elf noticed, as they worked, how solemn and lost Alistair looked and she felt a deep pang of sympathy for him. He had known Duncan and the Grey Wardens much longer than she had. When the both of them were out of earshot of Morrigan, she scooted closer to him, lifting a few stray branches into her arms,

"Alistair," she waited until his eyes were focused on hers, "Do you…do you want to talk about Duncan?" She stopped gathering sticks in order to face him fully. The young man sighed and stopped his task as well,

"It's all right," he shook his head, "You don't have to do this, you know," The melancholy shade of his eyes only grew darker, "It's not as if you knew him for very long, anyhow. It's all right. Really,"

Karia was silent for a few seconds, watching him. It really _wasn't_ all right. His shoulders had sagged and the hollow ring in his voice did not help to convince her to believe his case. The brave façade he was putting on was noble, but hardly a worthy ruse. He was a bad liar. Very bad, in fact. He might never make a Denerim politician being that way, but it was a trait she admired. After another moment, she lowered her voice to a gentle whisper, "He was like a father to you, then?" and when his only answer was a nod, she found herself softening, "I understand. And for the record, Duncan was a good man…I did not know him well, but he had my respect and my trust. I mourn his loss, as well."

He released a jagged breath, his pretense crumbling, and he muttered, "I should have handled it better…" averting his from hers, he stared gloomily at nothing in particular, "Duncan warned me right from the beginning that any one of us could die—at any moment," he ran a callused hand through his dark gold hair. The muscles in his jaw worked as he fought for control over his emotions.

Patiently, she waited for him to finish. She knew what he was going through. _This is too much. There is too much to process. Too much to consider. Too much death. We are the last…and the burden of this responsibility grows heavier still…_

Alistair glanced down at her again, and she could see the sorrow in his eyes, "I shouldn't have…have lost it. Not when so much is riding on us, what with the Blight and…and everything," he sought out her eyes, and managed to murmur, "I'm sorry," before the intensity of her gaze caused him to turn aside his glance and watch the grass at his feet.

The apology surprised her. Of all the things that she had expected him to say, "I'm sorry," wasn't one of them. She shook her head at this, "There is nothing to apologize for, Alistair. It is…" she paused and ducked down to seek out his eyes, "it is completely understandable."

Gratefully, he gave her a half-hearted grin, "Thank you," and he sighed in relief. She said nothing, but gave him an encouraging smile as well. There was nothing left to be said of that so the two Wardens continued their small task of gathering the sparse wood. Before long, Alistair spoke again, "I…I would like to have a proper funeral for him, in the future. When all of this," he waved a careless hand for emphasis, "is done,"

"That is very thoughtful…and he deserves it, I think," she said approvingly.

He smiled again, briefly. Before continuing, "I think he came from Highever, up to the north. I'd like to travel up there, sometime…see about putting something up in his honor—I don't know. But, I don't think he had any family to speak of." The thought sobered Alistair considerably, and Karia stopped him again,

"That's not entirely true, since he was Commander of the Wardens," her voice carried her support to him, "And he had _you_, after all,"

She observed what effect the statement had on him—the small smile and the faint trickle of hope in his eyes gave her some small measure of hope herself. If she could convince _him_ to have faith, maybe…just maybe she might find it herself. The moment soon passed, however, as he began to confide, "You know…it may sound incredibly stupid, but…" he glanced in her direction, "Part of me wishes that I had been with him in the battle…I feel as though I abandoned him." Karia listened as he spoke, hearing the sadness, the regret…and the harsh irony in his voice when he spoke next, "Of course, I would be dead, then, wouldn't I. That certainly wouldn't have made him any happier…"

It was a few moments before she shook her head, "It is not stupid. It is not wrong to want to have been by his side." Karia picked up another stick of firewood and murmured in a hushed tone, "You may not believe me—you have no reason to. But I do understand how you feel,"

Alistair stopped and faced her again. The action startled her and she could only gaze back up at him mutely while he seemed to be searching her face for answers. His voice was soft when he suddenly stated, "You do understand, don't you…" his smile was genuine and appreciative as he spoke, "Thank you for this. Really. It helps."

She gave him a small smile before turning and walking back to camp, and he followed after. Before they reached the clearing, she turned back to him, "When you go to Highever for Duncan, I'd like to go with you," the look in her eyes conveyed her earnestness for this request, and Alistair smiled once again,

"I'd like that…" his voice betrayed the depth of his sincerity concerning that matter, "And so would he, I think,"

Silently, she contained the relief she felt for his acceptance. It surprised her—this feeling of wanting his approval. After all, he was a _human_. But he was also a Grey Warden. And she had learned, after witnessing their loyalty at Ostagar, that they were a group of amazing people. Just as well, she also supposed it was because Duncan had spoken so highly of him, and had been so close to him. Duncan was a human whom she had admired and respected and if that human had valued this man so much, she supposed it would be wise of her to give this young Warden a chance to earn the same respect and trust she had felt for his mentor.

Her thoughts changed when Morrigan's harsh voice met them, "Well, Wardens, it took you long enough," she crossed her arms defiantly, "I would hope that this procrastination is not a habit of yours when it comes to facing the Blight,"

Alistair bristled, "I didn't see _you_ helping,"

The witch raised a brow, "Then I don't suppose _you_ would like to cook tonight, hm?"

Miffed, he insisted, "I could, too!"

With a vague smile, Morrigan stood and stepped away from the fire she had ignited, "Now _this,_ I have to see…"

Alistair mumbled something under his breath at her answer and then kneeled by the fire to start. He wasn't sure quite what to do with the herbs, but he managed to erect a sturdy structure over the fire to hang the cooking pot over. Morrigan had already gotten water for it and had lured a wild hare to their camp, slaying it with magic. That just left the skinning to Alistair, which he was able to do efficiently enough. He quartered and sliced the meat, adding it to the boiling water as it finished. The two women watched him with great interest as he worked and Karia was able to hold her own conversation with the mysterious witch.

"I have a question for you," she began and Morrigan sniffed disdainfully,

"Why must you bother me at all with such things?" and she shifted to face her, "I do not bother poking and prodding into _your _life, now do I?"

Karia answered softly, "You could if you wanted to,"

A soft answer was not what the witch was expecting and therefore she fumbled clumsily with her response, "Well…What is it you wish to know?"

"Have you always lived in the Wilds?"

Morrigan actually laughed at that, "Well, it was my home. I suppose I always have,"

Karia considered this for a moment, "And it was just you and Flemeth who lived there all this time? You had no problems with the Chantry and the Templars?"

"Oh, Mother would bait the Templars. 'Twas great fun. As a child, she had me lure them into the Wilds…"

"Your mother used you as bait?"

Morrigan frowned, "I was a child, and 'twas a game. I had no need to fear these men and Mother did as she wished with them,"

For a few minutes, Morrigan explained a few things about living in the Wilds as an apostate. It seemed all that the witch cared about was power and freedom. And, although Karia could not agree with everything she said, it did give her the opportunity to understand the woman with her better than before. All she had known was freedom and she had grown under the tutelage of a woman who was renowned as a powerful mage. It made sense that she would act as she did. And her aloofness was attributed to the fact that she had only a very limited experience with other people. She did not know how to treat them any other way than sarcastically and cruelly—for that was how she was raised. She treated them as a reflection of herself and she believed in self preservation. And that belief fueled her desire to put other down because it gave her more confidence in herself. She did not understand that it only put her in a more precarious and less desirable position because she had never learned how to properly handle people.

Not that Karia was an expert at dealing with people. In retrospect, she supposed that had she only been more persuasive she might have convinced the Bann's men to back down before Shianni had knocked him unconscious with the wine bottle. In fact, had she been a better friend to Shianni, she might not have still been getting drunk and being so outspoken. But then again, those were things that Karia had decided to bury in her past. They could not be rectified or changed and therefore counted as very little and were not worth worrying about. That past had burned with the ring that Nelaros had never been able to give her…

But speaking of burning…

_Wait…what is that smell?_ She and Morrigan stopped their conversation and began glancing around camp. Something was burning and the smell was horrendous. Suddenly, from across the fire, Alistair swore and leapt at the pot in the middle of the fire, burning his hands when he tried to grab it. The stew was smoking and boiling over into the fire, bits of sludgy water and meat sloshing into the flaming pit. It was a _mess_…

Morrigan hissed, "You blasted fool!" she reached out her hands and cast an ice spell to contain the fire and cool the handles of the pot, "We've a mabari traveling with us now and you're _still_ the stupidest member in this group," and she glared at him to stress her meaning. Alistair stuck his burnt finger in his mouth and Karia giggled at the childish sight, taking pity on him and standing to help him. She glanced at Morrigan, pleading for assistance and the witch sighed, deferring to Karia's leadership and healing Alistair's hand.

But the rest of dinner was chaos. There were three bowls, but Borvo, while the others had been busy handling the firewood and talking and cooking, had somehow managed to sneak into Morrigan's bag and chew up all of the spoons. Of course, Morrigan was furious and threatened to hex the mabari. In fright—which was foolish, considering he was supposed to be a fierce wardog—it sprawled in a heap onto Karia's lap. And since she had been nursing the ruined meal, adding herbs and trying to make it at least _look_ edible, since the taste was beyond repair, she managed to spill half of it onto the ground. This only helped Borvo to recover from his little scare, for he jumped ungracefully off of her lap and began slurping up the stew. Alistair tried to come to the rescue and shove the dog away, but Borvo snapped warningly at him. The man backed up, but ended up slipping on the muddy, stew-moistened ground and tumbling into Karia's side and the _rest_ of the stew ended up on Morrigan's lap.

Alistair began to laugh, but then he caught the glares from both of the women and he shrugged helplessly. Morrigan froze the ruined remnant on her leggings and brushed it off as she stood, stomping to where her backpack lay. She pointed her finger at Alistair, "I swear, if you _ever _have anything to do with dinner again, it will be because you _are_ dinner and not _making_ it! I shall turn you into a wild hare and cut you bit for bit _myself!_" her voice had risen to a shriek by the time she finished her threat, leaving both Wardens to stare at her in consternation as she picked up her things and strode to the far side of the clearing to set up her own campsite, far away from Alistair.

He lifted his hands in an innocent shrug, hoping to get some sympathy from Karia. She stopped glaring long enough to smile, then chuckle, finally laughing merrily. He watched her for a few moments, wondering if it was a sincere laugh, and then he began to laugh with her while Morrigan scowled deeply at the both of them from where she sat.

After they had gotten the camp cleaned—mostly with the help of Borvo's tongue—Alistair suggested that it was time they simply went to bed and he offered to take first watch.

"Watch?" she asked him, curious now.

His brows wrinkled with confusion, "You don't know what that is?" She shook her head to imply that she didn't and he tried to explain, "It's when someone stays awake to make sure that the camp is safe. We stand guard for a few hours, and then wake someone else to take the next turn so the first person can get some sleep. It's tiring, but definitely safer."

She nodded in agreement, "You're right. I'll take first watch then," and she didn't leave him any room for protest, walking away quickly to stand guard next to the trees where she couldn't be seen. Alistair stopped his objections and picked a dry spot near the fire, soon falling asleep.

Karia found watch to be enjoyable. Borvo curled next to her feet and she found herself marveling at the creature. She had always heard that the mabari were as brilliant as they were fierce, but for a dog to remember her as well as it did—and survive a horrific battle to come find her and bond with her—was a miracle indeed. She was not complaining, as she thoroughly enjoyed having his company. Especially tonight.

The night was beautiful. A cool breeze blew from the west and the elf breathed deeply the refreshing air. Above, the stars were glittering like rotating diamonds on display, and the small sliver of the moon seemed even brighter despite its size. Kneeling on the lush grass eased some of the stress from her weary legs and Karia found herself becoming almost _too_ comfortable on watch. Somewhere in the distance, she heard an owl hooting, but she was still so enraptured by the brilliant stars to look for it. Far, far up above the country of Ferelden, and farther above the whole land of Thedas, and even farther away than the moon, those radiant little orbs shone—untainted by the Blight and unbothered by politics and traitors. _Oh to be a star…_ thought the woman wishfully, _to be perfect and bright and beautiful…to shine in the darkness and be the light that leads when nothing else can. So bold. So beautiful. Hope…if only that could be attained…_

It was several hours before Karia realized that her turn for watch should have ended. She gently woke Alistair and curled up on another dry spot beside the fire. She was exhausted and was asleep before long. Alistair grinned a little when he saw her. She was curled up into a snug ball with the mabari lying sprawled against her back. The pose itself seemed adolescent and gave off the impression of vulnerability. And that vulnerability stirred in him the desire to protect. He scoffed at himself inwardly, knowing that she had survived long enough to prove she wasn't completely helpless. But still...

He removed his traveling cloak from his pack and laid it across her. It was mid length on him, but it covered her completely. Unconsciously, her hands wrapped around the material and pulled it over her chin, clinging to it for warmth as the night grew colder. He added a few more logs to the fire, stirring a few of the dying embers back into the heat of the pit. Another cold breeze wafted a few of the embers into the air, burning for a moment before another breeze caught them and extinguished them. He frowned, _I suppose that's us, isn't it. We burn for a little bit but at any moment some little breeze can blow us out…like at Ostagar…_ The thought ripped at his heart and he turned back to Karia, trying to remember their earlier conversation.

The young Warden smiled as the little elf buried her nose under the makeshift blanket. _Cute…_he thought with a chuckle. It still surprised him that she had been recruited Grey Wardens. Somehow, although the thought of more women in the Order was slightly appealing, he didn't think that _this_ one would have been a candidate. Not that she lacked heart or character—as he had discovered, she had more than enough strength to withstand many of the trials that had been thrown at her. She was handling the aftermath of Ostagar even better than _he_ was…

_You're staring…_he suddenly realized, flushing. Not that Karia minded, since she was sleeping. But that wasn't the point. He was just beginning to wrench his eyes away when he noticed a drastic change in the way she slept. Creased brows and shallow gasps replaced a peaceful expression and even breaths while the mild tossing and turning became frantic thrashing. She was dreaming. And it definitely wasn't pleasant. With a sharp gasp, she bolted upright, breathing heavily. Her eyes darted across the campsite, as though she expected to see some terrible monster to leap out of the darkness. And then her eyes met Alistair's, and he spoke to her in a low tone,

"It's normal, being a Grey Warden, and all, to have those dreams."

She blinked as she tried to make sense of what he was saying to her. When it finally sank in, she shuddered hugged her knees to her chest, "It was horrible…Why do we have them?"

He shrugged, "It's the Taint in us. When we drink their blood, we are able to sense them. And in our dreams we can hear them. That's what your dream was—the Archdemon talking to the Horde."

"Is that the dragon?"

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, "It sure _looks_ like a dragon. No one is sure. But…the fact that we can hear him is proof that this is indeed a Blight,"

Sighing, she shifted on the ground, trying to get comfortable again before asking, "Will we always have these dreams?"

"Yes," was the answer she already knew but did not want to hear as Alistair continued, "Some Wardens say that they can block out the dreams; the older Wardens say that they can even understand them. Others," he shrugged again, "eventually go mad. They're just more…sensitive, I suppose. I don't know," His amber eyes met hers reassuringly, "You'll get used to them. We all do. Eventually, you'll learn to live with them." For a moment, he was silent and then he clarified, "When I saw you stirring like that, I thought I ought to explain all this to you."

Karia gave him a fleeting smile, "Thank you, Alistair," her voice was sincere, but he could tell that she was still troubled. Discontent to leave matters like that, he gave her a broad grin,

"Well that's what I'm here for: to deliver unpleasant news and witty one liners,"

She laughed softly, and he couldn't help but think it sounded faintly like music. _But that is ridiculous, isn't it? _He thought, grinning like a fool, _I think I'll make good on my promise to teach her to fight. Eventually. Not right now, though..._

"I'm hungry," he sighed, but was too slow and laughing too hard to dodge the small stick she threw at him.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Wow! What a month this has been! January has gone by entirely too quickly, but the school year is taking as slowly as it ever did. A special thank to all of you who reviewed, Normorn, fifespice, and others. You all are AWESOME! It was nice seeing my gmail full of alerts for this story. It is so encouraging reading your comments and reviews. Makes me want to write more! :) Keep them coming yall! I love you guys! _

_Okay, I have to admit, this chapter is bugging me. I'll probably redo it sometime in the future. It feels like it's rushed through, and too much happens all at once. The next one will be back to the usual stuff, though, I promise. And it won't take so long either! At least...I hope it doesn't. All right. Since this chapter is already like...a bazillion words long-I won't clog up your reading time. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Chapter 11 to Victory, Vigilance, and Sacrifice..._

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"There it is…" came Alistair's low tone, "Lothering. Pretty as a painting,"

Karia raised a brow at him in question. Lothering was neither pretty nor painting-like, what with the flurry of anxious bodies bustling across the entire town. Smoke was billowing from scattered campfires and the calls of distress, the screams, and the crying made the small party cringe. From where the Wardens, the witch, and the war hound were precariously perched atop a crumbling stone causeway leading into the city, they could see the whole commotion laid out before them. It was mass confusion with too many problems and too few solutions. Chaos mingled with the terror of knowing that the slaughter at Ostagar was likely to be repeated before the end of the week in several different villages.

Not to mention, it was probably the first coherent thing that Alistair had said all afternoon. Since leaving their campsite, more evidence of the Blight's destruction had been strewn all along the road. Wrecked caravans, burning tents, and dead bodies littered the small outlying villages surrounding them, and proof of Ostagar's destruction from passing, horrified travelers further caused a severe depression to fall upon the young man. Not that Karia could blame him. She felt just as deeply about the loss, though she knew she could never yield to despair. There was enough of it to go around already without her adding to it.

"Ah…" Morrigan purred, "Finally decided to join us again, have you? Falling on your sword seemed little worth the effort after all?"

Alistair turned to the witch in anger, trying to keep his voice even, "Is it so hard to understand my grief?" his hands came up as he tried to present his example, "How would _you _feel if your mother were killed?"

"Is that before or after I stop laughing?" asked she with a malicious smile.

Snorting in disgust, Alistair mumbled, "Right, creepy…forget I even asked…"

Karia listened to them with half an ear. Both of them were more stressed than she liked to think about. Morrigan's haughtiness had been an irritant to Alistair since the beginning of the trip, and it was no doubt how little Morrigan respected him. Deciding perhaps it was time to step in, Karia asked the young man beside her,

"We can get supplies here, but we will have to leave soon. Where shall we go?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Arl Eamon—definitely. He will recognize me, and he will believe us. I know he will," Alistair's eyes darkened, "He has to. Cailan was his nephew, after all. He will help us, for sure."

"How do we get there?"

"Castel Redcliffe is west of Lothering," he explained, stepping beside her and painting a pretend map in the air with his hands, "Only a few days' journey away."

Karia pondered this for a moment, "Where else might we receive help? Where are the elves located?"

"The Dalish," he said, moving his hand to the right side of the imaginary map, "are in the Brecilian Forest. We will have to wander for a while before we come across their camp. They do not enjoy visitors," He said, but then seemed to think again as he looked her over, "However, you are an elf. They might be more forgiving towards one of their own—I don't know."

Karia nodded, trying to put the pieces together. Redcliffe and the Brecilian Forest were on the opposite sides of their current position, and she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of backtracking. Especially when the darkspawn were on the loose and attacking anything and everything they came in contact with. Finally, she asked,

"And the Circle of Magi?"

"By Lake Calenhad," he moved a hand north and west of the invisible Lothering location, circling the entire region, "Their tower is in the middle of the lake, actually."

Karia frowned, _how impractical..._ "And the dwarves?"

Alistair moved his hand from the invisible Tower farther west, "Way out here—far towards the west in the Frostback Mountains. It will be treacherous reaching Orzammar since we are approaching winter and winters are always harsher in the mountains. If we go there, we will have to do it before the heavy snows begin."

In her mind, she drew out a plan of action. The majority of their allies were west of Lothering, leaving the Dalish elves as the most practical allies to seek out first. It would unsettle Alistair, but he would follow. And Morrigan would not care either way they chose. After a moment more, Karia nodded,

"We will go seek out the elves first, and then we will go to Redcliffe." She stated and noticed how Alistair's countenance darkened, "It will be a short journey." He didn't protest, but from his expression, she could tell he did not agree, "Most of our help is west of here, and they are the only ones in the east. Not to mention, as you said, I am an elf myself. Perhaps this will alleviate some of the stress of speaking to their leader," amending that, she added, "I do not understand the Dalish customs, but by blood we are kin. I have just as legitimate ties to them as you have to the Arl," and for some reason, at that, Alistair flinched.

Reluctantly, he conceded, "I see your point. The Brecilian forest it is, then."

She turned to Morrigan, "Do you have anything to add? Any suggestions?"

The witch looked genuinely surprised, "I…" she lifted her chin proudly, "I wonder why you do not attack the archdemon now when it is least expecting it. Go directly to the source and defeat the Blight before it truly takes hold."

Alistair whirled, "We can't simply walk in and say 'All right, beastie, time to die!' and—poof—all over," he argued, "The darkspawn outnumber us twenty to one, and no one knows how to kill the demon,"

Just as angry, she retorted, "I was simply giving my opinion—"

"_Enough!_" Karia said, raising her hands in a commanding gesture, "This is getting us nowhere. I _did_ ask for Morrigan's opinion, Alistair," she turned stern eyes at him, "I do value her word, as a traveling companion as well as yours. And your tongue…" she swiveled to face the witch, "is something I cannot justify. I would have your advice and opinion, _not_ your endless criticism, especially concerning Alistair," her eyes by this time seemed to be shooting sparks at the mute apostate, though her voice was even and controlled, "I cannot afford contention among my closest allies when there is enough contention _outside_ our group," her tone quieted to just above a whisper and her eyes begged, "Please…"

Duly penitent, the witch gave the elf a curt nod, choosing wisely to hold her tongue while Alistair could only gaze at her wide-eyed. It was not a speech he had expected to hear from her and though it had suitably chastened him, he felt rather pleased that he had been defended thusly. Morrigan, though she would not admit this to anyone other than herself, saw the elf's logic and almost agreed with her. _Perhaps I was harsh…_she admitted, and could not quite understand why the small Warden had chosen to defend her against Alistair's argument when she had very well deserved his rudeness. It was a thought she could not entirely grasp and decided perhaps she would contemplate it in silence while they walked.

Karia turned on her heel and began walking away. At the alienage, the smaller children often fought with idle banter—just as Alistair and Morrigan did. Some days she would witness such arguments and have to diffuse them. It bothered her a little that she would have to do that for her companions, though she did understand that with a variance of personalities there would be various disagreements. She just hadn't expected the tensions to be so high so soon.

Borvo growled warningly and Karia suddenly noticed a small band of armed men blocking the causeway entrance to Lothering several yards in front of them. Alistair seemed to growl, himself, "Bandits, most likely…profiting off of other's misfortunes…"

"Survival of the fittest, it seems," Morrigan commented.

She was contemplating turning back when one of them men whom she suspected to be the ringleader of the operation strode forward to greet them. "Greetings," his cocky lilt seemed entirely too cheery, "There is a toll on this road for travelers. A mere ten silvers and you'll be free to go about your way,"

Karia crossed her arms, "They don't have toll roads in Ferelden."

A large burly rascal tapped the leader on the shoulder, "I think we should let them go. They don't look like the other travelers,"

"Nonsense!" the first mocked, "Everyone pays the toll,"

Narrowing her eyes, Karia murmured, "_Not_ everyone…"

"Is that a threat?" the bandit leader was almost smiling by now.

She shook her head, "I do not wish to fight you. I am a Grey Warden and I just wish to—"

"A Grey Warden?" the man's eyes lit up, "Then I definitely could not let such an opportunity pass," he drew his weapons, "Men, get 'em!"

He surged forward and would have run Karia through had not Alistair been there. He shouldered the man to the ground and drew his sword as others rushed madly towards them. Morrigan froze the nearest one and shot bolts of electricity into several others while Alistair and Karia stood back to back as they had at the tower of Ishal. Beside them, Borvo fought wildly. When the last bandit had fallen, Karia backed away from the carnage, suddenly noticing that the leader was trying to crawl away, holding his injured side.

Alistair grumbled, "He's not as dead as he looks, is he," and swiftly finished the murderer off. Karia swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. She had never had to kill a _human_ before. She looked at the lifeless bodies lying haphazardly on the ground and wondered how terrible the Blight must be to have forced them into such a lifestyle. Perhaps for some it was not specifically the Blight. Perhaps it was poverty, upbringing, abuse…it could have been any number of things. Whatever it was, it had been a hopeless cause that led them to a premature death that under better circumstances ought to have been avoided.

What bothered her more, however, was how they had attacked them. She stopped Alistair before he could check the bodies, "They attacked us after we told them we were Grey Wardens. Why would that be?"

The man shook his head, "Loghain is probably up to something…"

"Perhaps we should ask around in town?" she suggested.

"Yes," he agreed, "but very carefully. I don't want to repeat this mess…" he glanced distastefully at the bodies.

Morrigan had been checking the bodies for anything useful, taking the money that was in the leather coin purses and searching for any papers that may have given any indication if Loghain had indeed been part of their attack on the party or the illegal "tolling" of the causeway. Swallowing her disgust, Karia followed suit, finding the nearby body of an armored man. Something about this body was different, however. He carried a better class of armor and, from the visible wounds, it appeared he had been ambushed. She found a couple of papers and some sort of amulet on the body. She was unsure if they were important or not and had no wish to read them at that moment. Therefore, she pocketed them in that hope that they would become useful later on. If nothing else, she knew she at least trade the amulet for supplies.

When Alistair came over to assist her, however, his reaction to the body was less than pleasant, "Karia!" he knelt quickly beside her, "Look at this man—dead!"

She watched him with curiosity as he stated the obvious. Seeing that she didn't understand him, he continued on his rampage, "You don't understand. Look at the shield," he pointed out the gray garrison atop a crimson hill and explained, "This man was a knight of Redcliffe. One of Arl Eamon's men!"

Karia stared anew at the dead knight. So he had never been a simple traveler after all. _There must be some way to identify him!_ She thought, and fumbling in her pack, she pulled out the amulet she had pocketed and showed it to Alistair. Furrowing his brows, he tried to identify it, but could not, He grunted, "We'll just have to keep this handy just in case there is another knight nearby. It is…strange that they would wander so far from the keep itself during such a great crisis," he mused, taking the papers and amulet from her and putting them into his own bags.

The elf girl replied in barely more than a whisper, "I don't think we will find much safety in Lothering."

He snorted his sarcastic agreement and the four of them continued into the town itself. Almost as soon as they stepped off of the stone causeway and onto the hard earthen roads, the panic in the air seemed to condense into an overwhelming madness. From atop the bridge, it was a silent sort of commotion; in person, it was more of a mob of insanity. Complete anarchy. The authorities believed they had everything under control, but people have only ever seen what they wish to believe. This was no different. Karia felt claustrophobic in the small village—so many people and so much disorder. It was very much akin to the alienage. Except in the alienage, there was no Blight looming on everyone's heels to make the mayhem more terrorizing than simply disorganized.

From the moment they entered, it seemed they were thronged with villagers needing help for something—anything. Karia found herself trying to negotiate trade for the villagers with a miserly merchant overpricing and bleeding the poor people to death. It was not hard to persuade him, actually…

Spreading her feet in a wide, determined stance, Karia glared at the merchant. Her green eyes seemed to be searching his and the man trembled under the earnest stare. He loosened the collar on his shirt and grumbled, "All right! I will lower my prices, but if you _ever_ want to barter with me, the four of you will be paying full price!"

The chantry sister that had been arguing with him before the small group arrived heaved a sigh of relief as the greedy man walked away, "Thank you so much…there really _is_ some good left in this world," Karia stopped her before she could walk away, asking as to how they could earn money. Eagerly, the chantry sister led her to a chantry board, at which Alistair snidely remarked about the chantry's "dedication in the midst of a blight." Karia cast him a sidelong glance and he snickered to himself while she read the various pleas for help.

The atmosphere began to change around them. Unnoticeable at first, it was distinct now. The general mood of the villagers had begun to shift to an even greater level of depression and fear and Karia was growing slightly alarmed at the change. Most of the trouble, however, seemed to be coming from nearby. The mingled voices around them grew louder and a throng of anxious people flocked around a bedraggled traveler standing on the steps of the Chantry. He was unshaven and filthy, as though he had been rolling in mud, and his beard had bits of leaves and Maker-knows what else clinging to every piece of it. There was a haunted, desperate look in his eyes as they scanned the shivering crowd of people before him. Long fingers with longer and dirtier nails pointed among the crowd and his maddened voice rose to their ears, "It is coming. It will find you! It will kill us all!" he clawed at his face and his hair, "We cannot escape the Blight! There is no hope!"

A couple of panicked citizens alerted some of the Templars inside the Chantry about the man, but when the Templars arrived to hear that speech, they stopped in their tracks to listen. Karia furrowed her brows as she wondered why they would allow such nonsense from the man. But as she watched the individual faces, frozen in fear, she realized they could do little else. What the man said was probably true. It was not a fact they could fight. They hid it in their day-to-day lives, but the truth was that they were _terrified_ that the Blight would find them. They were _horrified_ that it would claim their lives as well as the lives of the ones they loved as it had already taken so many others before them. How does one simply ignore that?

The man suddenly turned his wild eyes upon her, "_You!_" He spat at the ground before her, "A minion of this evil!" He turned to the people in fury, "Why do you let this vile creature live?" He made a move as if to strike her, and Alistair was suddenly between the two of them, towering over the man, _daring_ him to try. Without pausing, the man amended his course and continued baiting the crowd. Karia watched the poor man with compassion in her eyes. He could not have always been as he was now. She pushed the tall warrior aside gently and approached the wild traveler,

"You poor thing…" she crooned softly, trying to calm him. The stranger whirled to face her but made no move to attack, "What happened to you?"

The man blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. It was almost as if he had not heard her, but the fact that he was staring now as opposed to ranting was indication enough that he _had_. His jaw worked as though he would speak, but he said nothing, and Alistair grunted wryly. He knew that look. He often had that feeling when Karia spoke to him. It was more humorous watching it on another man's face, however.

"They…They killed them, you see," the man rasped finally, "I watched…" his voice broke as he poured his story out to the elf girl. By the time he was finished, he was bawling, and Karia was listening just as patiently as ever. Finally, she spoke,

"Frightening these people will not bring her back…"

He screamed as this realization tore through his soul. "I know…" whimpering, the words, "I have failed…" escaped his lips and he turned desperate eyes to hers, "What do I do? I cannot stay…" for a moment more, he just wept, feeling wretched and worthless. Karia watched silently and waited. After a minute, the man said, "I will go…and trouble these people no longer…" and when his eyes met hers again, there a glimmer of clarity—a small reflection of the man that he had once been fighting to regain control of the shell that used to be his. And then he was gone, trudging through the dismal streets of Lothering to somewhere unknown.

It was silent for a few more moments before, timidly, one of the bystanders spoke up, "What he said was true, wasn't it? There really is no hope,"

A templar nearby spat on the ground, "Of course it's true. We don't stand a chance against such evil,"

A great dissent between the people arose as they debated about what they had just heard. It moved Karia and she was saddened to see them so discouraged. She had been in their shoes not long ago.

Somehow, her soft voice managed to silence them as she spoke, "There is _always_ hope. Do not give it up. Not now." The people did not disagree with her. It was hard to disagree with such a strong statement when the person who said it seemed so _confident._ Instinct told them to listen. Reason denied instinct. So they simply listened and watched her as she squared her shoulders and stepped into the Chantry. And when she had disappeared from their view, they remained mute as they scattered. But it was a different kind of silence. It was contemplative, rather than simply hopeless. Alistair watched this with his mouth wide open. If he hadn't known any better, he would have supposed her to be a queen the way she handled the people around her. He was still staring when Morrigan stepped up beside him and firmly shut his mouth with one of her hands,

"You're hot air is escaping," the witch smirked and followed after the elf. Alistair scowled to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

Slowly approaching the Chantry steps, something caught his eye and he hesitated. A few moments of indecision passed before he changed his course and followed along the side of the Chantry towards the back to where an overgrown bramble had taken over what used to be a luscious garden. And amidst the brown, thorny thicket was growing the reddest rose he had ever seen.

He stared for a moment, wondering if the flower was real. _It couldn't be, could it?_ Everything else around it was dead and dying. The brambles had choked out any other life that had been there, but one valiant red rose was still bravely blooming. For a moment, he considered just leaving it. It did not belong to him. And yet…he hesitated once again. _If I leave it, the darkspawn will just crush it…_ He fidgeted and looked all around him. No one was watching. No one at all.

_Perfect_.

Karia marveled at the immense Chantry. The ceiling rose in grand splendor, held firm by immense wooden columns. Designs and murals were painted across the ceiling and across various walls. The stained glass windows seemed to add an ethereal quality to its majesty. And yet for all its grandeur, it was open to the ragged, the poor, the tired, and the weak. Every corner was packed with mattresses or blankets for the refugees coming in. Victims from all across the south were all huddled within the four walls of the Chantry, whispering, crying, praying.

Halfway through the building, she was stopped by a Templar. His eyes traveled to her ears and he visibly recoiled, "An elf?" but regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and began again, "We…have seen a vast amount of travelers. I suppose your kind is in no less peril then ours." Karia was beginning to resent the trouble her heritage brought her. People seemed to see her pointy ears and assume she was evil. Of course, she grew up with the stigma in the alienage. But to experience the brunt of people's scorn firsthand was more injuring to her than she had originally thought it would be.

She introduced herself and the witch beside her, "We are traveling from the south. My other companion…" she turned to introduce Alistair, but found him just entering the building at the front. Pointing him out, she continued, "He and I are Grey Wardens…"

The templar frowned, "Grey Wardens?" he seemed troubled, but added to her, "I do not believe what Loghain says about your order." She cocked her head,

"Loghain?" she shook her head, "what has he been saying?"

"That you betrayed the king on a field of battle. That your order is responsible for his death,"

She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly, _Oh no…_ "And…you do not believe these lies?"

He reaffirmed that he did not, and she gave him a grateful look, "You are much nobler than that traitor Loghain. He abandoned us. My companion and I lit a signal for him to join the battle. He quit the field and left them to die while we were ambushed in the Tower of Ishal. He is the real traitor,"

The man frowned, "Now this, I can believe. The Grey Wardens have too long stood by their king and their country. And Loghain too. Yet, he has set himself up as regent to his daughter Anora, the queen. Many wonder if the man is simply power hungry or mad. Or both."

Karia listened to the man for a moment, watching Alistair as he crossed to talk to a knight standing in another corner of the Chantry. She asked if the templar could give them any sort of aid, and he confessed he could do little. Although, when pressed, he gave her the key to their pantry, which she took quite willingly and left the man in order to search out some supplies. The elf and the witch rummaged through the food in the Chantry's closet, making a list of what other supplies they would need while in town when Alistair approached them. His face was ashen and his voice, when he spoke, revealed that he was greatly concerned.

"The Arl is very ill,"

Karia stopped what she was doing to face him, "Ill? How so?"

Shrugging, he fumbled for words, trying to sort out the pieces of his mind in his state of alarm, "He has been bedridden for weeks. No one knows what kind of sickness he has, only that he is unconscious and is not responding to any treatment—magical or anything else." He stepped closer, "We _have_ to get to Redcliffe as soon as possible."

She was silent for another few moments as she drew out the plans in her mind. If Arl Eamon was truly as sick as Alistair claimed, then their quest to seek aid from those listed in the treaties could prove much more difficult and take so much more of their precious time._ If he died… _obviously Alistair's thoughts had followed the same direction as hers, for she could see the pained look in his eyes. No. They could not afford to lose this ally. The others would have to wait, after all.

Karia closed her pack and nodded to Alistair, "We will go. But we need to find an inn. There are a few more things we need to get. A tent at least and some bed rolls."

The young man agreed, but seemed more distant than usual. She sighed, realizing how hard it must be for him. He had been relying on Arl Eamon's help and now to find that the man was near death was definitely a shock.

The small group left the Chantry behind them, and Borvo seemed to be in heaven. He would run off—something that had worried Karia the first time—and then come back with all manner of strange objects in his mouth, from string, to rags, to half eaten cake, and even a bottle of vintage wine. The elf girl was really quite impressed. The next time he ran off, though, he took off over the bridge that led to the other side of Lothering and Karia was reluctant to follow after him. She had just about convinced herself to do so when she spotted a young boy huddled beside the bridge. He kept sitting up and peering out across the vast numbers of people—searching. Tentatively, she approached him, but when he saw her, he piped up,

"You! Have you seen my mum? She said she'd meet me here,"

Karia cocked her head in surprise at his boldness, but answered, "No, I haven't seen your mother. We can go find her if you wish."

He crossed his arms defiantly, "Mum says I'm not supposed to go anywhere with strangers,"

"What does she look like, then?"

For a moment, he thought, and then he shrugged, "She…she looks like Mum. I don't know how to describe her,"

Karia sighed, knowing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere, "Where did you last see her?"

"These bad men were chasing us," he detailed for her, waving his hands wildly to show how big the event had been, "And she told me to run here and that she'd find me. And I don't know where my father is. He went with some other men to a meeting and they never came back,"

The elf girl swallowed back a lump in her throat. He didn't know it, but his parents weren't coming back. Here was yet another victim of the Blight, and Karia couldn't help but think it was probably the cruelest. She fished deep into her purse and pulled out a silver coin,

"Here, take this. Get something to eat and then go stay in the Chantry. It is safer and warmer."

The boy's eyes grew wide as he gingerly took the money from the woman's hand, "Oh, thank you, miss!" he turned it over in the palm of his hand several times before looking back up at her. For a few seconds, he stared curiously at her and then he spoke, "You're an elf, aren't you. Everyone says elves are mean and nasty folk," and Karia grimaced inwardly at the two descriptions, but the boy wasn't finished, "but you're not like what they say—you're _really_ nice. Thank you, _so_ much!" And then he was off, racing across the dusty cobblestones and into the Chantry.

Alistair watched the two of them with an increasing amount of wonder. They were making incredibly slow progress in Lothering, only because Karia seemed to genuinely want to help every person she came in contact with. He couldn't decide if it was necessarily a bad thing, though. If anything, he had no doubt whatsoever at how big her heart was. And, as he saw her hand out their last silver piece, he was certain that her purse would be proportionally as small as her heart was large. Compassion was an expensive endeavor. But, the more he thought about it, the less he had a problem with it. Wasn't that what Grey Wardens did? Help people? That was all she had done since being recruited less than a week ago. And he had been recruited for over six months. What did he have to show for it besides a few interesting moles and battle scars?

On second thought, maybe he didn't want to answer that.

The two Grey Wardens and the witch passed over the stone bridge and were standing amidst a quieter part of the town. The people here were all huddled around separate fires or inside scattered houses. And towards Karia's immediate right was an inn. Without further moment's hesitation, she headed towards it, her rapid change in pace causing her companions to have to sprint in order to stem the distance between them.

Perhaps she should have taken more time for caution; perhaps she should have inquired of its proprietor, or of why there seemed to be a sort of repression in the area around the inn. Perhaps she should have been curious as to why everyone seemed to be avoiding it. But it was too late for that. Barging carelessly into the inn, Karia ran headfirst, quite literally, into Loghain's personal guard—all of them armed and ready for a fight. Alistair was behind her by only a second, and the sight of them caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stepped protectively to the elf girl's side, unconsciously noting that the poor girl was barely even half their size.

For a moment, Karia hoped to avoid detection. The inn was a public place, and certainly, they could not wish any trouble. She attempted to slink around them, but a hoarse bark from one of the soldiers stopped her in her tracks,

"You there! Stop!" he towered over her and peered at her face while another man beside him began piping excitedly,

"All morning we've been looking for a Grey Warden of _her_ description—and here she is, just walking right into our laps."

The tall soldier nodded grimly, "So it would seem…" and then he raised his voice, "Grey Warden, by order of Loghain Mac Tir, you have been charged with treason to the crown and are hereby sentenced to death!"

There was no time. The five guards had their weapons drawn and were rushing the three travelers. Seeing the trouble, the bystanders in the inn all dashed to the opposite end of the room. Some of the women and children screamed and hid their faces from the impending carnage, while some of the men defended themselves with broomstick handles and chairs. _Alistair_ was ready for the rush first and took the brunt of the charge, being pushed back into Morrigan. She froze the first two and then continued sending bolts of electricity into the following soldiers. The damage was minimal, but precise. Karia, being at the worst disadvantage, guarded her fellow Warden's flank, protecting him so that he could effectively fight the bulk of the enemies. They made a formidable team. But they had been surprised and were disorganized and weary and, eventually, the guards would wear them down.

That is, until the unexpected happened.

Of all things Karia could have hoped for, help was possibly the last thing on that list. And here it came, in the form of a mad Chantry sister. Her short red hair was windblown and frazzled and her long robes were in extreme disarray and the elf girl half expected the woman to become entangled in them. She didn't, however, and the matched daggers she was fighting with seemed like a blur of steel. In moments, the battle was over, and Alistair was standing over the prone form of one of the captains, sword poised at his throat, ready to kill him at a moment's notice. The Chantry sister, seeing this, shrieked and stood beside the last soldier,

"Enough! There has been enough death on Loghain's account. Slaying one more will bring _no_ good," her accent was thick and strange—something Karia had never heard before.

Alistair's face darkened, "He tried to kill us!"

"And now you're trying to kill him. Have mercy, good sir,"

The man stared up at the two people who were fighting both for and against him and wisely said nothing, though his fearful wide-eyed glances made even Karia feel pity for him. Eventually, she stepped in, pushing away Alistair's sword,

"You," she pointed to the guard, "Get up," and hastily, he did so. She stepped close to him and stared challengingly into his eyes, her pose intimidating although she stood over a foot and a half shorter than he did, "I want you to bring Loghain a message from us." He nodded quickly and never blinked as she relayed to him in a low, menacing tone, "We are coming for him. You got that? We are coming for him." Then she stepped aside, "Now go."

The Chantry sister sighed audibly, "I'm glad you decided to spare his life. Everyone could use a little mercy, don't you think?"

She introduced herself as Leliana. It was an Orlesian name, and the elf supposed that it must describe her accent as well. Karia strained to understand her words. They sounded so incredibly foreign, though she knew that the woman was speaking the common Ferelden tongue. Both guttural and beautiful in equal parts, it was exotic enough to intrigue, and yet, for the uncultured elf, difficult enough to be slightly annoying. And rather than be rude and inform the girl of her speech impediment, Karia sat patiently while the woman relayed to her about her dream and how the Maker had revealed to her that she was to help them in their quest.

"Wait…" Karia held up a hand to stop her, "You say that the Maker…_speaks_ to you?"

"Yes!" breathed the Sister, "He does…and please do not look at me in that way. It is true. He told me that I must go with you. And it has done you well so far, has it not?"

"But," she interrupted, "Why _me?_ There are hundreds of other Grey Wardens across Thedas who are in just as much trouble. Why here? Why _this_ Chantry?"

"Would you question the Maker's ways?"

"Er…no,"

She smiled winningly, "Oh good, because I certainly wouldn't,"

Alistair could not believe his ears. Or his eyes. But mostly his ears. The strange Chantry girl genuinely believed that the Maker had sent her. But the Maker had only ever spoken to Andraste! He glanced at Karia, but could not read her stoic expression. If she had been surprised at the news, she certainly didn't show it. Morrigan's face showed plainly enough how she felt about the Sister. The grimace she was wearing almost looked painful, and he would have snickered if a potential party member had not been on the line. For, he realized, and almost too late, that Karia was considering allowing the crazy woman to join.

Karia didn't seem fully convinced, but she was certainly considering the woman's story. It had _some_ merit, but more and more she got the feeling that the woman wasn't telling them everything. Not that she had to. Everyone was entitled to have one or two secrets left to themselves. Karia just wasn't sure if she was willing to risk those secrets being life or death secrets, which she supposed was more than likely that they were.

"I do not want to have to babysit you, Sister. Where we go it is dangerous. We could lose our lives at any moment,"

The woman seemed offended and her full lips puckered into a moue, "You would have no need to _babysit_ me. I am capable of taking care of myself. I can fight,"

Karia nodded. She had seen her fight. It was impressive, and in truth she had no room to criticize having never mastered her own swordsmanship. Leliana's blue eyes were pleading for acceptance. And Karia looked her over once more. The woman was fit, but very…buxom. It was an uncharitable thought, but the elf seriously doubted the woman's usefulness in anything but seduction. Morrigan was built that way, as well, and used those charms to her advantage and to the annoyance of the other Grey Warden. Pressing further, Karia asked,

"Would you not miss the Chantry here? You could do so much more good for these people here than following me,"

Adamantly, the girl shook her head, "No. I will be helping more people by ending the Blight. You must believe me!" she insisted, "I shall be an asset to you. You must give me a chance. And besides, you could use the extra help," waving a hand at the dead guards, she continued, "In these times, you cannot afford to be alone,"

Karia nodded, but did not accept, "I will speak with my other companions aside first and give you an answer momentarily,"

She drew away with the other two out of Leliana's hearing range. Alistair tried to read the elfin girl's expression, but it was just as stoic as ever. The elf turned her eyes to her companions. First to Morrigan, who had an answer before Karia could even pose her question,

"You seem to have this inane ability to draw blathering idiots to your cause," she disdainfully wrapped her arms across her chest and tilted her nose up as she glared at Alistair. He glared right back, knowing her insult was directed towards him. She confirmed his suspicious when she continued, "'Twas the case at Ostagar, and this woman is no different. I do not believe she should come."

Karia nodded and gave no indication that she agreed or disagreed. When she turned to Alistair, however, he could read a determination in her eyes…but not the direction. She was definitely set on something though!

And of Alistair, she asked, "What do _you _think?"

Her eyes were intense, and he shuffled. Being put on the spot like this always made him nervous. It wasn't as though he disliked the Sister, it was just…well, she was _weird._ But that was hardly a good excuse not to let her travel with them. Thousands of trivial excuses like, 'her hair is too bright,' or 'she talks funny,' kept forming at the tip of his tongue, but he kept swallowing them back knowing those answers would only earn him a glare from both of his companions. One thought made Leliana's coming seem appealing: the fact that Morrigan did not want her along. And since Leliana was a Chantry sister, her entire theology was contrary to the witch's. Another plus to him and a double annoyance to the apostate. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was for her coming. They needed all the help they could get and, besides…Karia had that _look_. She had already made up her mind. So why was she asking? And when she turned those big green eyes on him like that…

That was it.

He cleared his throat, "Well…she's crazy. But more like, 'Oh, look, pretty!' than Princess Stabbity Stab, Kill kill!" he pumped his fist up and down for a visual aid and the slightest of grins appeared on Karia's face. Helpless to resist, he consented, "I think she should come,"

Karia considered this, but he could see the triumph in her eyes. She quietly added, "She really does believe the Maker speaks to her." She glanced back and found the young woman with her arms crossed and her red hair draped precariously around her pale face. The matched daggers that she had been using had somehow disappeared and Karia couldn't help but wonder where on earth the girl had hidden them, but then decided perhaps she did not want to know after all. It was a sign of lethality that Leliana kept very well disguised. And this pleased the elf. So the Sister _wasn't_ helpless.

Morrigan tried very hard not to scream. It was antagonizing with Karia muddling over every single fact. The elf thought entirely too much. And the witch was beginning to be concerned that she might actually _allow_ the inept Chantry kitten to follow them. It was true. She had a horrible alliance record, if one was to judge from both of dog _and_ her fellow Grey Warden, the young man being the worst choice, for at least the dog had the sense not to speak.

The elf sighed. She had already made up her mind, that much was true; but she had also wanted her companions' input. She had known Morrigan's response, but Alistair's was unexpected. It surprised her and pleased her that he was not as close-minded and exclusive as the witch was. But it was obvious that he had not taken the time to evaluate both sides of Leliana's acceptance. She would have to be able to fight and contribute to the camp. Her personality would have to somehow mesh with the other personalities at the camp, which, at this point, would only be a problem with the witch. However, that was the witch's fault. Leliana would have to be trustworthy and loyal—for they could not survive long with a traitor in their midst. All of this, and more. Yet, her decision could wait no longer.

So what was she waiting for?

She nodded once and then turned to speak again with the anxious Leliana. Her body language revealed nothing of her decision, and Alistair was beginning to wonder exactly what she was telling the woman. Both of their faces were serious and he thought for a moment that Morrigan was right: the girl was crazy and probably should not accompany them on their mission. It made sense, after all. It was dangerous. Leliana was obviously Orlesian and therefore high-maintenance. Right?

Karia and Leliana turned away from the other two companions and Alistair sighed in irritation. He was already bad at reading body language, but to not be able to read expressions either hindered him from knowing anything at all of what they were saying. Until Leliana's hand suddenly rose to cover her mouth. _What does that mean? Oh Maker, she isn't going to cry, is she?_ He groaned inwardly, _Emotional. Very bad on a long trip. If she goes. Wait—would they please just turn around already!_

Alistair and Morrigan waited with bated breaths for the two women to turn around. And finally, when they did, Karia announced, "Yes,"

That was all she said. That was all she needed to say. And the disbelief written across the faces of both her companions said everything.

It didn't help that, by this time, the overjoyed Leliana was dancing.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: My sincerest apologies to all my readers for yet another long delay! The week that I was supposed to publish this, the internet was down and I couldn't get on. And then the next week I was a lazy bum and forgot about it. So now you have it! It's not as long as the other ones are, so I will try to post another one quickly! :) I hope you all are doing well! Thank you SOOOO much for the nice reviews and comments and favorite story adds-Raven Jadewolf and Bdub (and others whom I am forgetting,,,sorry!) You all are Awesome!_

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

Leliana had promised not to be any trouble, but Alistair was certain that he would have his hands full protecting both the elf and the Chantry Sister. In fact, now that he had agreed with Karia to let her join, several _good_ reasons for _not_ bringing her along began to pop into his head and he muddled them over as they cleaned the bloody mess in the inn. And one of the reasons was because Leliana liked to _talk_. The woman didn't know a stranger. She introduced herself formally to both him and the witch and then seemed to make herself comfortable. Not that it was a bad thing, since, currently, she had made herself useful pocketing money from the corpses. And she was easy to spot—her bright red hair could be identified from all the way across the room.

Frustrated that he was beginning to like the idea of her coming along again, he simply stopped thinking about it and looked for Karia. She was harder to find than the Chantry sister, being much shorter and quieter. And it was beginning to worry him. The elf could disappear at any moment and none would be the wiser. A bit guiltily, he admitted he would be among the clueless ones. _Not that she is forgettable_, he thought, trying to justify himself, _She's just…_

"Ouch! Alistair, watch out!" Karia harrumphed at the big man who ran into her. Quickly, he backed away,

"Oh, er…" he cleared his throat, "Sorry…" _Blast it, you fool…there you go bumbling things again…_

She sighed and glared up at him, not sure whether she ought to be angry at his foolishness or forgiving for the accident. It wasn't a difficult choice. Alistair smiled sheepishly and she visibly relaxed. What was difficult was being angry at a man with such an innocent grin. Letting the flames die in her eyes, she moved forward to speak to the inn's proprietor. As she walked, she said,

"Alistair, do you think you can dispose of those bodies when Leliana and Morrigan are done?"

He nodded. Of course he would.

Karia delicately approached the manager, covering her ears with her hair to save him the trouble of being shocked at the sight of them. She expected to be thrashed, cursed, run out of the building. Several of the guests had already left from the sight of the bloodshed and the bodies, while a few continued drinking as though nothing at all had happened. Surely the man would be furious at her for disrupting his business, but all he said was,

"Those men have been frightening my poor customers all day, standing there like that and crowing at anything that so much as looks like a Warden." The man sighed. He was well past middle age, yet wiry and nimble with his fingers as he wiped dry a glass mug in his hands, "Glad to be rid of them, I am. Now just to be clear, I don't care what you are, so long as you pay fair and don't cause any more trouble,"

She shook her head, speechless while the man rambled. To say that he was unconcerned would have been a complete understatement. He simply didn't care, and the elf wasn't sure if she should be thankful for the small blessing or worried about it. She chose to conclude her business there as quickly as possible. He had two tents for sale. Granted, they were in need of repair; but the sets were complete. And concerning bedrolls—she had to settle for a few light blankets since most of the bedrolls were being used for the refugees. This was no problem since the nights were still warm, though beginning to develop a wintery chill. She estimated, however, that they would have more than enough time to find proper bedrolls on their travels.

Leliana appeared beside her with Morrigan a few paces behind, and suddenly Karia was struck with a thought, "Armor," she muttered under her breath, noting the gaudy Chantry robes on the woman and knowing they simply wouldn't do, "Leliana, you need armor. I don't think—"

The Sister clapped her hands ecstatically, "Oh, shopping! That sounds exciting. And yes, these robes are starting to tatter at the hems…" Karia watched her with wide eyes, not quite understanding her enthusiasm. _It was just armor…what's the big deal?_ What really confused her was the fact that she didn't stop talking. She rambled about shopping for a good minute and a half and tried to draw Karia into it as well. There was one problem: Karia didn't _like_ shopping. Alienage shopping was vastly different from Orlesian shopping, but Leliana didn't seem to understand that. So, Karia listened—but only because she couldn't escape. Suddenly disappearing around the corner would have been considered rude.

Eventually, Karia was able to get a word in edgewise, "We are in a hurry. Would it bother you to…" but Leliana was talking again,

"I can pick it myself. I really _do_ have some skills, you know. I'll need about ten coins or so and I won't be long. Where shall I meet you?"

The elf thought for a moment, then, "The Chantry." She handed over a few coins to the giddy woman and gathered the rest of her party. They would have to finish those Chantry projects before they continued any further. Leliana's addition was another expense and they officially had no money.

According to the board, a young boy's mother had been killed by a large pack of wolves just outside the northernmost part of the city. Not to mention, there were large gangs of bandits that had been harassing the people who needed to be dealt with. The last task was to eradicate a large group of rabid bears that had decided to move into the area. Karia thought about the tasks with distaste. They all involved _killing._ Unless, of course, she could just ask the bandits and the wolves and the bears to simply _leave. _Now, _that_ would be an interesting sight, for sure.

Alistair stopped her before they could head northwards. Reaching out to touch her shoulder, he flinched when she backed away out of his reach. _I forgot about that…No touching. Either she hates it or she really doesn't like me…_ the thought was slightly depressing, so he chose to push it aside, "We have been through a lot of fights lately, and we haven't had time to look after our weapons. Mine is unharmed, but I am concerned about yours. May I check it for you? There may be chinks…"

Karia handed him her blade and watched as his checked it. It had been an unconscious habit to step away from him. His touch gave her chills—cold, frightening rushes of memory from a past she wished she could simply erase. Thoughts of what used to be home and the tangled mess it had become only helped to further tear the seams of her heart, and humans seemed to bring out the worst of those memories. And looking at the people with whom she traveled gave her no reassurance, for they were _all_ human, save Borvo who, being a mabari, did not count. As depressing as the thought was, she could almost identify the most with Morrigan. The witch pushed everyone away because she trusted none of them. Sometimes, Karia suspected that the witch didn't even trust herself. She was alone in a big world. Just like Karia was. Except, Karia couldn't hide from it like Morrigan could. Being a Grey Warden had thrust her into a huge world that she had almost no knowledge of. It had forced her to grow and expand in such a short amount of time, and the growth was painful. It was like a turtle that was being forced to grow into a shell three times too big for him. _Impossible!_

Finishing quickly, Alistair handed the blade back to her, "It is all right. We will have to sharpen it when we set up camp tonight. It won't last against any heavy armor though. You will have to be cautious when you battle that you don't hit a chink and drop your blade," He pointed out a small one near the hilt, "This is your worst enemy right now. Just…" he had to clear his throat when he caught her big green eyes staring into his, "Just be careful."

She took the sword gingerly and sheathed it, her mind whirling again, _I do not understand that man. It is difficult to distrust someone who has seemingly declared himself my personal bodyguard. _And Karia wasn't sure if she minded that or not. He was a Grey Warden. But he was still a human. _Grey Warden, _she reminded herself firmly, _He is a Grey Warden. I need to remember that. If I cannot trust this man, and he cannot trust me, then we have no hope to slay the arch demon._

Without further ado, she decided it was time to head out. They only had a few hours left of sunlight and she wanted to be headed to Redcliffe as quickly as possible. The faster that these tasks for the Chantry were completed, the faster they would be paid, and the faster they could begin their true mission. Her pace showed her determination and Alistair and Morrigan found themselves trailing behind the little elf. He caught up to her easily, due to his long legged stride, and not a moment too soon.

The area that they found themselves in seemed desolate. The grassy flatland that made up most of the area around Lothering was already dead and brown and overgrown into tall brambles. Most of the homesteads were behind them except for one lonely mill set apart from the rest along with one farmer's empty field. The only other landmark they had was a single iron cage standing resolutely to one side of the beaten path.

And inside the cage was a qunari warrior.

Morrigan stopped her from proceeding, "Those beasts are dangerous,"

"The qunari?"

Taking a hold on her staff, the witch snorted, "Yes, of course. You do not think I would call _Alistair_ dangerous, do you?" and the man being insulted glowered at the comment, "Do what you will, fearless leader, but take caution with that one," the apostate warned.

Karia nodded once, fully intending to speak with the qunari. He was caged, after all. What harm could he do to them?

Cautiously, she approached, and Borvo, who normally would have bounded beside her, approached her side mutely and meekly. Behind her, Morrigan and Alistair watched and waited, the other Warden with his hand on his weapon—just in case.

Karia peeked into the dark iron cage. The many slivers of iron, though strong, did not seem adequate a cage for such a big creature. The man was huge. Even huddled in the confining bars, he stood well above Alistair's height, which made him a giant to Karia. Violet eyes opened and met hers. They were _defiant_.

Darkly tanned hands gripped the bars before him, and the creature uncurled himself to stand straighter, making him even more threatening. His voice growled low and thick with disgust, "Have you come to stare and point, too, _elf?_"

Karia didn't flinch. She stared back at him, her green eyes luminous, "No. I did not. I am Karia, and these are my companions," she gestured at them, but did not take her eyes from his, "It is a pleasure to meet you,"

The qunari snorted, "Either you are mocking me, or you possess civility that has not otherwise been shown to me," he ran a hand through the loose strands of his braided white hair, "What do you want of me?"

"To talk," she answered simply. He gave no reply, save a non-committal grunt that she took as an acknowledgement to continue. For the first time since meeting, she took her eyes off of him and observed his prison, "What are you doing in this cage?"

"Sitting,"

She pretended not to hear his sarcasm, "Who put you here?"

"Myself,"

Trying once more, "How did you get in?"

"It was difficult,"

Alistair snorted, trying to disguise a chuckle. It really _did_ look like it would be difficult to get the huge man inside the cage. Karia hid the annoyance in her expression. If the qunari saw it, he would count it as a victory. She did not want to give him one just yet.

"What is your name?"

He frowned, "Name? I am a Sten of the Beresaad."

_Ahah…so he has something I can call him, anyway. _"What is a qunari contingent doing so far from home?"

"What the Arishok commands, we do,"

She resisted the urge to frown. This was getting nowhere. At last, she asked, "The Arishok? He is your leader?"

"Yes,"

"What was your mission?"

"To answer a question,"

She nodded, more curtly than she would have liked, "And what was this question?"

The qunari frowned deeper, "What is a Blight."

"And did you find your answer?"

"Yes,"

"What was it?"

"Were you not at Ostagar?" he growled and Alistair glowered right back at the man. Karia's voice remained even as she answered,

"Yes, I was."

This seemed to surprise the qunari. He did not speak for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts. The violet eyes scanned the small group critically, finally meeting Karia's once more. The eyes narrowed and the brows creased into deep furrows. They stared each other down for a time before he said,

"You are a Grey Warden, then. I have heard stories about your order,"

Tilting her chin up proudly, she posed, "And what have you heard?" She was almost more frustrated at herself for continuing the dialogue than at him for being so stubborn. What was worse was realizing that there was someone who trusted _her_ less than she trusted _him_, for once. It was the most irritating feeling to know that she could not crumble his barrier of defense. However, she was _certain_ she was getting somewhere this time…

Sten crossed his arms as best as he could in the cage, "That they are great warriors, skilled in all manner of tactics and in battle." He paused and looked her over once more, "That they are honorable."

She stiffened, feeling the challenge in his manner rather than hearing it. He had heard those words spoken of the Grey Wardens. What he wished was _proof._ He had never seen a Grey Warden in battle, yet had heard of their renowned reputation. And yet, to arrive in a strange land in the middle of a Blight to hear that the Grey Wardens had abandoned their king and had been completely decimated in one horrific battle was not the greatest of first impressions to receive. To make matters worse, _two_ Grey Wardens remained—the _only_ two left in Ferelden—and were reduced to scrounging up hand-me-downs in armor and supplies. Why should _they_ be alive when the rest of their brethren were strewn lifeless before a horde of darkspawn? Unlessthey were lying. Or traitors to their own traitorous order. And though Karia knew the truth—knew the lies that he imagined of them—she could do little to convince him otherwise.

_Unless…_

"Would you join us? We would free you, and you could redeem yourself and further answer your Arishok's question by battling this Blight with us firsthand."

Alistair and Morrigan stood aghast behind her. Alistair's jaw dropped and he openly stared while the witch simply simmered in silence. _Not another one_, thought the tall Grey Warden rebelliously, _and this time he's big and creepy…_He watched his fellow Warden and the creature as they bored holes into each other with their glaring eyes. _She's going to die. And we haven't even started yet,_ he panicked. He wanted to interject—to say something brave and scandalously witty, but he could think of nothing that would help them. Nothing at all. He wanted to protest—to make her retract her offer. He knew she would let him lead—take control. And yet, he didn't want to. It scared him more than the big qunari did. And therefore, fearful of that knowledge, he remained silent.

Morrigan was having second thoughts about having followed the two unwilling heroes—_again_. _'Tis folly! Utter foolishness! Simply one more burden to an already toilsome path they trod. And possibly one that would sooner run her through than look at her…_ The witch fumed to herself, running through every possible spell of recall she knew, but finding nothing that could replay time, and certainly nothing that could change her stubborn leader's mind._ Stubborn,_ snorted she quietly, _how frustrating._ But with all people, the folly that one finds most obvious in another is often the vice that is most common in himself. It was no different with Morrigan, and therefore she wisely did not interfere.

Karia and the qunari stared each other down. He had challenged, and she answered him in the only way that she knew how. There really was no other effective way to do so. And to be honest, there was something dark and mysterious about the man that piqued the elf's interest. There was more to the man in the cage than he was revealing, and she vowed to discover it, even if it killed her. And it probably would. The qunari was hiding something; and there was nothing she liked more than a challenge.

Sten, on the other hand, had been testing the little elf. Her composure in the midst of a frustrating conversation—especially to him, as she was asking all kinds of unimportant questions—was impressive. It showed a sense of mind and an astuteness he had not yet come across within these strange lands. Her forthrightness and boldness made up his mind. If anything, she would be means to reaching an end to his answer. Although, he knew he would never have the chance to return to his home, the Arishok, or the Qun…Still, he may yet die honorably on the field of battle. He did indeed deserve to be caged. The elf may not know yet; but he did. His freedom could allow him to atone for it. Grey Wardens…a man could do much worse in his choice of comrades.

"I accept," he growled, and Karia's blank stare gave no indication as to how pleased she really was.

Alistair let out the breath he was holding in a prolonged sigh. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insanely upset that the big man had agreed. Actually, he felt like a bit of both. The giant seemed relatively stable but he was hiding something. He _knew_ he was hiding something. It wasn't a secret—it couldn't be. He was just being insanely _frustrating, _which _made_ Alistair just as equally insanely _upset_. The young man tried to imitate Karia's bland expression, but Morrigan interrupted his concentration with,

"You appear to have just eaten a sour lemon,"

And then he was scowling.

Morrigan had already known that Sten would accept. From the mere fact that the qunari had hesitated in his response was the first indication that he was considering it. It severely _dis_pleased her; and yet it _did_ please her. Perhaps her little leader had expected this outcome as well. Perhaps she hadn't. There really was no telling _what_ the elf had in mind anymore. She had already welcomed two lunatics—why not one more?

Reaching out, Karia tested the bars. They were too sturdy to break with force. Reinforced iron made up the encircling rings and the welded corners were fused together flawlessly. It would have been useless to even attempt such an escape. But the lock…

Now, _locks_ were something Karia could manage. She examined it for a few minutes, picking up a slender stick lying nearby and fiddling with the visible mechanisms. It required a skeleton key, but the contraption itself was basic—nothing that couldn't be opened with a simple wire. However, getting the wire would be the most difficult part of opening the cage. Not a single person in her party had one.

But of course, none of them were rogues.

Karia fiddled with her supplies for a moment more, trying to loosen a wire in one of the rolled up tents when the sound of scraping iron behind her caught her attention. The entire group turned around to see a large band of villagers crowded around them, some holding clubs, others maces, with a few holding rusted swords. Grim faces stared at the Wardens, mouths pursed into thin lines, and eyes hard as steel. There would be a fight. There was no avoiding it. By the looks in their eyes—the desperate, feral determination—it was clear that they would not be reasoned with. Instinctively, the small party gripped their own weapons, tensely anticipating the villagers' next move.

One of the men stepped up—a scraggly bearded man in his middle age—and held out his sword menacingly, "It's nothin' personal, but you being what you are, and what all you've done, and us needin' the money…we just can't let you Grey Wardens live," and the motley gang rushed them.

It was hardly a fair fight. At first, Karia only struck to stun them or knock them unconscious, but the attacks were vicious. And after one of the first men struck down Morrigan while four others tried to use brute force to strangle Alistair, she realized there could be no mercy. They would not relent. Blocking the emotions that were wrangling within her, she slew one. Then another. Then one more. Her swordsmanship outmatched them enough for her to be able to dispatch them with minimal effort. Alistair's powerful swings kept most of them at bay; and Morrigan's magic was lethal to their unarmored bodies. Within a few minutes, the small skirmish was over.

Panting, Alistair shook his head and groaned, "We've made an even bigger mess of things. Their wives and children will hardly be as forgiving as the innkeeper."

Karia wiped the blood from her cheek where one of the villagers' knives had managed to reach her. It smarted and she winced. She had several small gashes in her clothing, but had overall managed to escape major physical harm. _Thank goodness…with so much pressing on us, we can't afford any delays for injuries. Not just yet. Not with, perhaps, a host of angry village wives at our heels…Oh, Maker, how has it gotten so bad? _ "Yes, I know," she murmured a reply to Alistair, looking down, but not at the bodies.

"There could have been another way," complained he, not quite ready to drop the issue.

_There could have been…should have been…_Karia was silent as his words echoed in her how she wished there _were_ another way. It was bad enough that unsuspecting innocents had died by the darkspawn. There should have been no reason for them to have fallen to the Grey Wardens…their _protectors_. It was wrong. It was needless. It was heinous. The elf completely agreed with Alistair. There _needed_ to be another way. But what was done was done.

"There was no other way, Alistair," her voice was soft yet deliberate as she spoke, "They attacked us. They would not relent. Not to talk—not for anything. Those men could not be reasoned with. You know this," And somehow the evenness in her tone disguised the internal struggle she felt roiling within her and undermining the very opinion she sought to convey. She needed Alistair to believe. So that _she_ could believe that what they were doing was the right thing.

Luckily enough, he did.

The dirty business of sorting through the bodies did eventually turn up something useful. Karia found a lock-picking wire sewn into one of the villager's shirts. During the skirmish, his shirt had torn revealing the black metal through the frays. She untangled it from the threads and examined it, bending it gently back into proper position before turning back to the cage she had been focused on before the untimely interruption.

Sten had been watching the fight in silent contemplation: Alistair's skill, the elf's dexterity, the witch's power, and the hound's ferocity. They worked as a unit—still unused to each other's individual style, yet accustomed enough to fight jointly. He had guessed Karia's first intent—to maim the attackers—and had been impressed at how well she adapted to the villagers' intensity. It was an attribute he had not often seen in the weak humans of Ferelden. But then again, the little Warden was an elf—a lesser being, a race whose only remarkable trait was its tendency to slavery and criminality. He had yet to see something truly remarkable about the little Warden.

Fiddling with the lock, Karia was able to insert the small black wire deep into the mechanism. She manipulated a few of the release triggers and managed to curve the wire into one of the grooves. It released a catch and the lock clicked open, releasing the giant from his cramped prison. It took a moment for the giant to emerge, for his muscles were stiff from his time of imprisonment and he was yet wary of his reception.

Standing to his full height in front of Karia, his violet eyes glared down at her in unabashed insolence, but she stood resolutely and glared right back. The qunari grunted and stepped to move past her but she halted him with her voice,

"Before we continue, I must know," the little elf placed her hands on her hips, trying to bolster her own courage by seeming and sounding threatening, "What is the _truth_? Why were you placed into that cage?"

Behind the small group, a figure clad in leather armor with familiarly startling red hair, now cut short, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Startled, they laid hands to their weapons, but the Sister—no, the _rogue_—was speaking,

"I can answer that for you, actually."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Sorry again, everyone! It seems every time I publish, it's longer and longer between posts. :( Epic fail. Anywho, this week (so exciting!) I was able to travel on tour with my singing group over some of the midwest. Amazing fun! :) Never before has the world seen a group of girls cause more trouble than we did, and we're all quite proud of it! ;) In any case, I hope this long chapter makes up for the delay in posting. For those of you who were desiring more of a conversation between Alistair and Karia, well...here it is! I love you guys! thanks for the reviews! They're awesome, and so are all of you!_

**_~oOo~oOo~oOo~_**

Karia turned around to face Leliana and the elf's jaw dropped upon seeing the complete change in the Chantry sister's demeanor. Poised, silent, graceful—she portrayed all the deadly characteristics that could be recognized in a _specialist_. Not always had the woman been in the Chantry—oh, no! It was yet to be discovered exactly _what_ she had once been, however.

The young woman's arms were crossed and she tossed her head to move the stray red hair from her eyes. Gloved fingers tapped upon the arms they were resting and blue eyes stared expectantly at the little elf before her, waiting for permission to continue. But rather than Karia answering, Alistair spoke up—impatient as ever,

"What do you mean? What'd he do?"

Her eyes were not on the Warden's, but staring directly into the qunari's as she replied, "He murdered an entire family. That crime is what placed him in his prison."

The qunari made no move to deny this claim; neither did he blink nor flinch. He accepted the accusation in stride and held his peace. This reaction was vastly different from the ranting and railing she would have expected from anyone else being accused thusly and it troubled the girl. That he didn't even seem to care troubled Karia even more. She turned her big green eyes back to meet his dark ones, "Is this true?"

"Yes."

_Silence_. None of them dared to speak. They did not whisper. They almost did not breathe. Glances were exchanged, but naught else. _What have I done?_ Karia's mind was screaming, _I've released a homicidal maniac! I can't take him with us—he'd sooner strangle us in our sleep than attempt redemption. What a fool I am._ But what could she do? She could not kill him—she wouldn't. Whether he deserved it or not, she could not turn against him after releasing him from his confinement. It grated against her better judgment. Nor could she lock him back up. That hardly solved anything and would possibly only turn the giant against her because of her fickle decisions. And yet, the qunari may have even had a plausible reason for turning against the family.

"Why did you kill that family?"

The big man blinked once, but did not answer. And for a moment, Karia saw a twinge of confusion and sorrow in his face…or had she just imagined it?

"Sten, either you killed them out of cold blood, or you had a reason. Which is it?"

"There was…no reason," he faltered momentarily and his voice seemed to carry across less harshly than before. But his countenance revealed nothing more.

Karia stepped closer, "Cold blood? You simply despised these humans and murdered them? Was it for pleasure?" She could feel her temper rising at the thought of such a despicable act—murdering for _fun…_

The giant almost seemed offended as he growled his negative response, and Karia was at her wit's end trying to understand the reasons behind the slaughter. The elf placed her hands on her hips while the others milled about uncertainly, watching the intermittent discussion with suspicion and interest. Alistair sidled beside his leader and gave her a sidelong warning glance. She ignored him. Morrigan, however, was not to be ignored,

"Shall we then allow the killer amongst us, then?" she pounded her staff into the ground, "I see no harm in bringing him along. If you truly desire a death wish, then by all means, 'tis a reasonable choice, is it not?"

Alistair fumed, "Shut up! I'd rather not be next on the menu for Warden Stew, thanks."

"You would probably taste like cheese."

He grimaced, "Why does everybody keep saying that?" The witch raised a brow sarcastically and Alistair, pouting, turned his attention back to Karia, "What's to keep him from turning around and murdering _us_ one day, hm?"

She shook her head. Quite honestly, she _didn't_ know. They needed help, and the huge qunari warrior would have been a vital ally. However, she was not sure if she was willing to risk their survival on the giant's loyalty and judgment. Eyeing the big man critically, she finally managed to say in a low, warning tone, "I freed you to give you the chance to redeem yourself and to help end the Blight."

"Yes, that is true," he agreed.

"You know of honor," she reminded him, "You know of justice. I will hold you to your word and that you are aiding _me_ against the Blight. Turning against me will only result in a quick and nameless death,"

_Nameless…_Karia watched as the giant flinched again, but only ever so slightly, _He has a story. He had a reason. _And for some reason, she believed his companionship would not be as dangerous as everyone suspected. Her companions were silent about her decision. Alistair's head was nearly spinning from the inner turmoil taking place and Morrigan seemed almost triumphant,

_They will all die,_ she hummed to herself, _and I will be alive, alone, and grinning over their dead bodies. 'I told you so!' I will say…This is a fool's errand. Mother will be amused at their folly._

Leliana was surprisingly silent as well. She appraised her new leader, finding her an enigma. Was the elf insane? Or simply daring? Perhaps a mixture of both? As luck would have it, the Sister was now committed to the small band of ragtag warriors and would have more than enough time to discover the true colors of the small city elf.

Loyal as ever was the mabari, who strode proudly by Karia's side when the rest lagged behind her too deep in their own thoughts to notice. His tongue was hanging out one side of his open mouth, and his large brown eyes gazed up at her expectantly. When she did not immediately pay him attention he barked and she smiled at his insistent nudging on her leg. Patting his head was almost therapeutic for the both of them. Karia grinned slightly as Borvo tried to thump his hind leg and walk with her simultaneously. Epically, he failed and tripped—and the elf giggled. Pleased with his accomplishment, the hound gave another bark and leapt forward.

The laughter did not go unnoticed, no matter how soft it was. Behind her, Alistair watched her and her loyal four-legged companion with slight envy. _She almost seems to be more comfortable with that thing than with any of the rest of us, _he thought with a slight frown. The fact bothered him, and he wasn't entirely sure why. _Of course, there really aren't that many options. We've got a witch—_and he gave the dark woman a sidelong glare that, afterwards, he hoped she hadn't seen—_and we've got a half-cracked Chantry sister who says the Maker actually talks to her. Now added to that there's a big, ugly, giant qu-nerdy thing with anger management issues. And then there's me…_and he felt a twinge of concern, _Oh that's lovely. She probably takes me for a fool. And she wouldn't entirely be wrong, _he admitted glumly. All he could do for the group was contribute ill-timed humor and a strong sword arm, _Well, at least that's handy enough…if only Duncan were here…_

_Duncan_. That was the key, wasn't it? _If Duncan were still alive, then we wouldn't be in this mess. _Alistair's frown deepened into a scowl, _In fact, these blasted Darkspawn would all be dead by now._ _If Loghain hadn't abandoned us—if he hadn't betrayed us, that dirty, rotten b—_

"Help us! Somebody—anybody—please!"

He bumped into Karia, pushing her two steps forward, having not realized that she had stopped. Karia didn't even bother to look back at him. It had not been the call of distress that had stopped her, but an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the sudden tingling sensation prickling across her entire body, almost like static electricity, but not. The call came again, louder and more desperate. Leliana pointed to the stone causeway across the field, pinpointing the direction of the cry. They were running out of time—whoever it was that needed them. One glance around the group—one short nod—one moment more—and they took off across the open fields, racing against time.

Borvo quickly outpaced them, with Alistair and Karia trailing close behind. Morrigan had already begun preparing a frost spell and Leliana had an arrow at the ready while their newest member lumbered behind, grabbing a large tree branch and wielding it as a club. The skirmish was still two hundred yards away, yet Karia could discern a large band of Darkspawn piling onto the stone highway, surrounding a small band of merchants. They were dwarves, evidenced by their size, yet fighting like wild men—hacking at anything within reach. Picking up speed, the warriors met the dread foes just in time. Alistair slammed his shoulder into the nearest genlock, knocking it and another over. His sword reached out and slew the both of them before moving on to the next. Karia followed the tall Warden and attacked the straggling Darkspawn with accurate striking while her war hound protected her from behind. Arrows, enforced by Morrigan's magic, were flying over top of them and thudding between the chinks in the Darkspawn's armor, and the mighty oak branch had long since been broken and abandoned, for Sten had discovered a square punch dealt just as much damage as the splintering wood. In moments, the hectic battle was at an end.

Karia leaned up against a stone column and breathed deeply, though the stench was overbearing. At least the oxygen calmed her nerves and gave her the chance to collect her thoughts. Alistair, loyal as ever, approached her first, assuring himself that she was unharmed before reluctantly asking Sten to help him pile the bodies out of the way. Leliana made herself useful by pick-pocketing the corpses, a job that Karia loathed more than any other duty. She was glad the red-headed rogue was able to cope better than she. Morrigan cast a few minor healing spells on the group, and the healing magic tingled across the elf's body with rejuvenating power. She took a deep breath, _Get up—move—do something useful…_ she urged herself, berating herself for feeling so weak, _Everyone else is working—get to it._ So she did, albeit slowly and gingerly, stepping around the heaped pile of rotten flesh that the world called Darkspawn. _Disgusting…_she kicked at one of the helmets on the ground, _They got what they deserved…_

Beside the overturned caravans stood two dwarves, one older and broader, his beard still a healthy rust color with small streaks of white; and the other much younger and leaner, fair haired and grey eyed. The older one stepped forward with an elegant bow, "My thanks for your timely assistance. My boy and I would have been finished if not for you folk."

Watching his mannerisms amused her. He did not reach to shake her hand, but rather put a fist over his chest and thumped it once. Never before had she seen a greeting as such. She awkwardly put the hand she had raised back at her side and looked the dwarf over—literally, over. Though currently the shortest member in her own party, she stood several inches taller than he and the other dwarf boy and the realization surprised her greatly. It had been a long time since she had been taller than anyone outside of the alienage. However, it was really no consolation seeing that it was a _dwarf_ beside which she stood, and not a human.

He introduced himself as Bodahnand his boy as Sandal: a simple merchant from Orzammar, traveling the strange surface world. Karia knew little of dwarves and their ways, only that they preferred the deep darkness of their caverns as opposed to the limitless world above ground. It struck her as slightly suspicious that two dwarves should be traveling so far from home in such perilous of times. Then again, what did she know of these folk? Traveling Ferelden was the life of a merchant. That they should still be traveling in the midst of a Blight—however unconfirmed the rumors of it were—was no more odd than the rag-tag group _she_ was leading.

"What exactly happened?" she prodded him. The man shifted slightly before answering,

"I'm not rightly sure. They jumped us, milady. Came out of nowhere, they did!"

"They did!" piped Sandal. Karia cocked her head at the boy's unusual behavior. He was a stocky lad, as she supposed all dwarven men were, and yet there was something strangely simple about his demeanor. Bodahnsensed her curiosity and tried to explain,

"He's a simple lad, but a good worker, aren't ya, boy?"

And the "boy" nodded in enthusiastic agreement. Karia frowned, not sure what to make of them. Her earnest expressions worried Alistair slightly, _She's frowning—that's not good. Or is it? But frowning can't be good. She couldn't be confused. Or is she? Wait…what?_ And he found himself frowning in his own confusion, turning aside to hide the blush creeping in his cheeks as Morrigan snickered at him.

Karia glanced them over, "Are you hurt?" The two dwarven men replied they weren't, but she had Morrigan cast a few healing spells upon them in any case. Grudgingly, the witch obeyed and the men thanked them profusely.

Stretching his newly rejuvenated shoulder, Bodahn inclined his head again, "You are too kind to us, milady. "

She nodded, not sure what to say. That she had nothing else to say made it even worse for her, as Bodahnbegan taking the silent moments to scrutinize his rescuer. He cocked his head to the side, and his brows furrowed into a thoughtful look. "You're an elf, aye? Haven't seen your kind this far out in years. I'm obliged to your people. The Dalish may keep to themselves, but they are far from heartless."

Karia shook her head emphatically, "I am not Dalish. I was born and raised in Denerim."

"City elf?" Bodahnscratched his beard, "Interesting…your features are not as soft…but then again," he chuckled, "I am not the best judge. Not many rely on the words of one who prefers the confines of a tunnel to," he waved his arms nonchalantly at the open air, "all of this."

_Is this a compliment? He does not judge me. Why?_ Karia swallowed once, and once more before she could answer him, "I would know even less than you do; in which case, I would trust your judgment over mine about it. Elfin history was never taught to me."

The dwarf chuckled again, "Gracious words, too. I dunno—could have fooled me if you'd wanted to."

She didn't respond this time. She didn't know how to. Yet her openly befuddled expression only elicited more laughing from the dwarf, "Ah, don't mind me. I speak too much."

It was Leliana that saved the conversation, "In which direction are you headed?"

The dwarves' faces grew serious and Bodahn muttered, "Headed north, we were. To be honest, I actually don't suppose it's much safer up there than it is down here. Maybe…" he scratched his beard again—an indication that he was in deep thought, "…but just maybe the presence of some warriors like yourself would be a more intimidating target for Darkspawn and bandits."

Altogether, it wasn't a bad idea. Alistair approved immediately. The presence of the middle class merchants would be a more welcoming appearance to the towns they would visit than a full party of armed warriors. With a professional barterer in the group—more professional than Karia's alternating tactics of cunning and innocence—_which I don't understand. How on earth could she keep a straight face with Sten and then completely lose it with the dwarf? Does she do it on purpose? She is open to strangers and acquaintances, but anyone else runs straight into a brick wall—_the other merchants would feel less inclined to overprice their goods.

Alistair blinked once. Then once again. His thoughts were shooting in too many directions to follow. He wasn't sure whether to be intrigued by his leader, or frustrated. Obviously, it was turning out to be a bit of both and he really didn't know if he was up to the challenge of trying to make sense of it. Not to mention, he had just heard Karia blatantly deny the merchant's proposal,

"I don't believe that would be the best idea," she shook her head, "For you, in any case."

The dwarf guffawed at the addenda, but Karia was trying to explain, "The road we take is dangerous. I can't stop you from joining, but I cannot guarantee you safety."

He shrugged, "Look, I don't see as how we'll be fighting front lines with you. I'm much too old to do much adventuring anymore. And safety is a luxury that none can afford today, in any case. But our chances will be better sticking together. If you really are opposed, though, we won't bother you again,"

Karia hesitated. "We're Grey Wardens," she explained, uncertain of his reaction. But though she had expected an outburst, she was surprised to find a wide grin on his face,

"All the more reason to have us along. You're in a precarious position, milady. And we seem to be able to benefit from each other. If you'll have us, that is," he finished slowly, his eyes appraising her.

Still uncertain, she glanced at the group and saw Alistair's hopeful expression. Leliana gave a slight nod of approval—the only obvious sign of approval since Morrigan simply gave her a challenging stare and Sten watched with his usual disinterest. But Borvo…

The elf stifled a giggle. The dog was playfully rolling around in the dirt with Sandal,his long tongue hanging out of a smiling mouth and his short stubby tail wagging a hundred miles an hour. The younger dwarf smiled a grin almost as big as the mabari's and clapped his hands with glee. To have not found such a sight amusing was impossible. Granted, it was out of place, what with half a dozen or so Darkspawn bodies lying nearby, but it was adorable nonetheless.

"If you believe so, then yes, of course you may join with us," she relented, "I expect our intended path should benefit the both of us in the end."

"Wonderful!" the burly little man grinned, "Now to packing. What a blasted mess those filthy beasts made of my caravan!" he muttered a few choice dwarven words as he set about his wagons, trying to organize some of the chaos that had become his life.

He put the small band of warriors to work while he was at it. Alistair and Sten ended up fixing the wagon wheels, as—in the confusion—several of the axles had snapped. Not only that, but there was corralling the horses that had been spooked. That task took up most of the men's time, as horses were hardly as compliant as wagon wheels. The women had the more tedious task of recovering the goods from wherever they had landed helter-skelter on the ground, which ended up being just as time consuming as both of the men's tasks put together.

Karia found herself on her hands and knees, crawling under the caravans, being the only one slender enough to fit underneath the various niches along the causeway. Bodahn currently had her chasing after giant pearls—a set of twenty-seven—whose containers had broken and then whose goods had rolled in every conceivable direction. Nearby, she could hear the witch complaining as her handful of gems scattered due to an impatient mabari chasing after a squirrel and bowling into her side. After a few wasted threats to turn the beast into a toad, the woman growled and dropped again to her knees to retrieve the items. Karia couldn't hide her smile and was glad for the shadowy nook she was beneath. Somehow, the witch's frustration eased some of her own and she wondered just how horrible of a person she was for feeling so. And yet, the thought made her smile just a bit wider.

"So, Sten, have you ever been in a war?" Alistair's voice rose from somewhere across the ramp.

"Yes," was the curt reply.

"Really?" surprise was in the knight's inflections_._ "So you know your way around a battle field then?"

There was a low growl before Sten responded, "Of what do you speak? Not every battle field is the same…"

The elf smiled to herself again. It pleased her that the other Warden was attempting to familiarize himself with the other companions, however awkwardly he went about it. That he cared meant more to her than even _she_ realized. He was already taking initiative in a task that she was loathe to even begin, though she knew eventually she had to. _They won't respect me if they don't know me. And I can't trust them if I don't know them…_

_But you're alone. You're an elf. You'll always be alone…_

The smile on her face slowly faded. These humans only followed her out of convenience for their lives, save perhaps Alistair who was a Warden—her brother in arms. People who ordinarily would never have given her a second look were flocking around her because of their desperation, not out of respect or friendship or any other favorable reason. She wouldn't expect them to. After all, had this dreadful Blight not overtaken Ferelden, she would never have ventured from her secure alienage, no matter how harsh the living was. It was _home._ It was where she was accepted and loved. The same camaraderie she had found in her childhood friends would never be recreated between her and those with whom she traveled. How could it?

Karia sighed and rested her chin on her wrist, gazing into the darkness before her. It was still so weird…so illusory being on the run, as they were. In just a few short days she had gone from being a novitiate Warden to a Warden leader—and neither of which she desired. It had been thrust upon her. She was as much a victim of circumstance as the refugees in Lothering. The only difference was people expected her to save the world.

_Save the world? Me?_ She almost laughed at the prospect. It was insane. She was almost in a hysteria thinking about it. It was ridiculous, unfounded, inconceivable, impossible, unfortunate, and any other negative adjective one desired to use. She wanted to laugh at the irony, and cry at the gravity of her situation. And yet she couldn't. All of the emotions swirling within her stayed pent up, bottled—carefully guarded against the public eye. _Not here. Not yet. I have to find that bloody pearl first…_

She reached farther into the darkness, groping for the last little piece to Bodahn'sset, when she came across something much bigger. Her hands rested upon something hard and smooth, chiseled and still somehow natural. Curious, she crawled out from the dark corner to inspect her quarry in the daylight. To her surprise, she found a valuable prize: a warrior figurine striking a noble pose, sword brandished high, head tilted back boldly, and armor glistening. It was beautiful. For a few moments more, she admired the craftwork, for it was finely and delicately wrought. Before she was able to move, Bodahn found her and remarked,

"Beautiful work, that, eh?"

She jumped, startled, feeling slightly abashed at being found loafing rather than working. With great care, she handed him the statuette which he took in his hands fondly, "It isn't one of mine, if that's what you're wondering, although it'd be a nice piece to bargain," he frowned at his comment, "however, slightly impractical. People want weapons, nowadays, and not statues."

Karia shrugged, "Still—it may be useful," insistently, she added, "There has to be someone out there who can appreciate this. We could use it for trade—for food. Anything. It's valuable."

The dwarf smiled knowingly, "Eh, not to me," he handed it back to her, "You keep it. I'm sure you'll figure out something useful for it, right?" and he turned his attention to another worker before Karia could protest. But she wouldn't have protested. Turning the figure over in her hands only revealed more of its intricacy. _Surely this could be used…indeed, I think I will keep it. For now, anyway…_

The sun was fully set by the time the entire caravan was put in order, and rather than find a more suitable campsite, the ever-growing group decided to pitch their tents—provided by Bodahn himself—in the center of the merchants' train. Morrigan kindled the gathered wood with a small burst of magic, and Leliana insisted on hunting for dinner with Karia. Grateful for the assistance, the elf agreed.

The Chantry sister—or rather, rogue—equipped herself with her bow and quiver full of arrows and Karia fashioned herself a sling out of the supple leather materials that Bodahn was willing to spare. Karia was careful not to wander farther from the camp than was necessary for their meal, being extremely uncertain of the territory and the dangers that would lie in wait for them in the deepening shadows of the night. Leliana seemed less reserved about it than her leader,

"It's a beautiful night, yes?" she sighed, gazing up into the heavens.

Karia nodded, following the woman's gaze, "It is, indeed,"

"My mother and I used to sit out on nights such as this," her exotic voice took on a tone of nostalgia, "and she would sing to me,"

The elf listened as the woman talked. Her voice was surprisingly soothing and her demeanor so trusting—it was hard to imagine her as anything else, yet…

"You were not always a Chantry sister, were you?"

Leliana shook her head, and her eyes narrowed remembering a distant memory, "Not always," and then she pointed, "Look there! A pheasant!"

Karia tensed in anticipation, setting the stone in the sling though she didn't yet see the quarry. Leliana had amazingly keen eye sight, which Karia found admirable. Squinting in the dark of night did not help her to appear any more capable than she knew she already wasn't. Eventually, the wild bird shifted positions, skittering forward from its dark hiding place and into the light, unaware that it was being watched. Before Karia could even move, the little pheasant gave out a startled squawk and its body jerked backward with a startling and unnatural speed. Equally as quickly, Leliana leapt from her cover and scooped up the lifeless bird.

"You shot it!" the elf exclaimed, pointing out the arrow embedded in the bird's ribcage,

"Well," laughed the woman, "yes, that I did. You have other ways to kill birds with arrows?"

Blushing slightly, Karia amended, "I did not see you shoot."

Leliana did not answer, but merely smiled at this comment. "Come," she said after trying the bird's feet together and retrieving the arrow, "we've much more to do. This miniature morsel isn't even big enough to get stuck in Sten's teeth," and, laughing, they moved onward.

_**~oOo~**_

"That was amazing, Bodahn!" exclaimed Leliana, as she handed the empty plate to the smiling dwarf who had graciously funded the spices and herbs for the meal. He bowed as best as he could while balancing the stack of plates in his calloused hands. Beside the big dwarf, with crossed legs—a huge mabari on top of them— and the contented smile of a carefree little boy on his face, Sandal rubbed his full stomach. Even Sten seemed satisfied with the meal—or at least the taste. There were benefits to allowing a traveling merchant to join the group—the best being the variety of spices he had stowed away within his caravan of goods along with the collective knowledge of cooking poultry.

Karia glanced at the circle of people with whom she traveled, amazed at how quickly it had grown from the previous night's campfire. Where there had only been three—not including the mabari—now gathered seven. The events that had transpired in order to accomplish this had only occurred within the last twenty-four hours. The rapidity of the journey was beginning to catch up to the little elf, and for a moment she could do naught but stare in awe at the people surrounding her.

Beside her the vivacious, talkative, and beautiful Leliana was listening intently to Bodahn's traveling tales. Farther off sat Morrigan, rolling out her bedroll apart from the others. The witch was as aloof as ever, but Karia did not expect the coldness to last forever. Sten, standing the farthest apart, kept a silent, lonely vigil, loathe to participate in the camp's activity. Karia let her gaze rest on him for a moment, thinking. He was an enigma. Somehow, the challenge called to her, beckoned to her, daring her to understand and unveil the secrets he was hiding. Traveling together was hardly conducive to a secretive lifestyle—especially with a nosy elf. The thought made her flinch, however. It would involve a great effort on her part to actually speak to them—get to know them. _What can I say? Will they think me a fool?_ She felt her stomach lurch at the thought. She made wonderful acquaintances. And yet, developing further relationships had never been her strong point. It was not that she did not like people—she simply was too shy to continue to get to know them, let alone speak to them any other time than necessary.

And, sitting on the other side of her, staring deeply and pensively into the blazing fire was her brother-in-arms: Alistair. She studied him, tilting her head to the side as she often did when in deep contemplation. He was so silent, so _serious. _The man sitting before her now was hardly the man he was when she had first seen him sassing a mage in the ramparts of Ostagar. _He is thinking about Duncan…_ she realized, with a pang of sadness, _How long ago it seems! And yet…it was just a few short days… _the girl frowned slightly, _He must be in great turmoil indeed!_ She didn't realize what the frown on her face was doing to the man across from her. _We must talk, he and I, tonight. Wardens we are and always will be—whatever that means. It will be a start. I will…try…to trust him more. And…it will begin tonight._

_She hates me! _He fumed at himself. _There she goes frowning again! I messed up, but I can't even imagine what on earth I did…_ Alistair was mentally kicking himself for every idiotic thing he could have ever conceivably done in the past day—or even the past _week._ Whatever it took to make her smile—to _like_ him, even just a little—was whatever he was willing to do. The sky was the limit on this one. Why it mattered so much to him could never have been answered—or admitted. Yet, he was infatuated and undeniably so. She confused him. She frustrated him. She made him _think._ And it was addicting.

Alistair shook his head and nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to find that Karia had scooted closer and her large green eyes were staring directly at him.

"I have a question for you, if you don't mind answering," she said, her voice low and soft.

The man gulped, hoping she couldn't see the blush creeping into his cheeks, "Er…of course. I don't mind answering, but the trick is actually having an answer," he cast her a crooked grin, and she rewarded him with a slight smile. _She doesn't smile that often, and it's such a shame…_ he found himself thinking, _She glows when she smiles—and to think it was a reluctant smile. Just imagine what a happy smile would look like…_

"About the Grey Wardens,"

He nodded, "What would you like to know?"

She thought for a moment, not entirely sure. She wanted to know _everything_, and yet she didn't know _anything_. The right questions to ask couldn't escape her because she didn't know them in the first place. The best she could do was guess. Her silence made Alistair slightly uncomfortable, and he held his breath, wondering. Eventually she shyly ventured to explain,

"I don't know what to ask you about them. Duncan explained much to me as we traveled—about the current order and the brief history. And yet…there was much he could not tell me. And now that he is…" she stopped, "I don't know what I should know about them." It was a lame ending if ever there was one. She knew it, too. But what else could she say?

Alistair released the breath he had been holding. _That's all she wants to know about?_ The man shifted positions on the ground and faced her, not sure where to start, "Well…" he lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, "What do you think you want to know?"

The elf tilted her head the other way, in slight confusion and greater embarrassment. She had swallowed a great deal of pride to pose the questions, revealing her inadequacy. And yet…he didn't notice. His own confusion melted the awkwardness and she smiled again, "Everything?"

The young Warden's eyes grew wide and he laughed, "You'll regret that in a few hours."

Karia chuckled, "Did you always want to become a Grey Warden?"

"You first," he shook his head, "If I'm going to be sitting here dishing out information, let me get a head start on the question-asking," he teased, and the elf complied.

"To be honest," and Karia's smile disappeared, "I don't know. I never knew they existed until recently, though I have heard much good about the order since then. At the time, I was running for my life and had no wish to be part of anything. Duncan saved my life by recruiting me."

Alistair nodded slowly, "Running for your life?"

"Did you want to join the Grey Wardens?" she interjected quickly, trying to pretend she hadn't heard his question.

"Yes, I really did," he agreed, seemingly unaware that she had put him off, "I was raised in the Chantry and then eventually was sent to become a Templar. Duncan recruited me before I took my vows, however."

"You were going to be a Templar?"

"It wasn't by choice," he added emphatically, "As I said, it was how I was raised. But, Duncan saw I wasn't happy and must have figured that my templar training could double for fighting darkspawn. So now here I stand, a proud Grey Warden."

"So…what can a templar do?" she asked, curious. This was another faction of life she was unfamiliar with, and was eager to learn more. Alistair was equally as willing to talk,

"Well," he cleared his throat, "A templar is trained mostly to squelch the magic in a mage, draining their lyrium and leaving them defenseless,' he thought for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, "We train heavily in discipline and, in our own right, we are magic users ourselves, which also means we need lyrium—or at least that's what the Chantry says—to boost our powers. I don't see as how it's that important, but…my opinion was never highly valued," Karia frowned at the touch of bitterness in his voice, but the man was still speaking, "They rationed out the lyrium, giving it to us at intervals, and eventually some of us would become dependent on the lyrium. It's like a drug, you see? It's impossible to take so long without becoming addicted."

Karia's brows furrowed, "Addicted? Did they know?" and his affirmative reply made her blood boil, "I can't believe they would do that! It's horrible!"

"Yes, it is. But they believed that was the best way to control us," he shrugged, trying to move past the subject.

She pressed him for more, "You also said you were raised by the Chantry. How can you grow up in the Chantry and then be a Templar?"

"The Chantry is also over the faction of Templars."

Shaking her head, Karia murmured, "Nevermind," sure that she didn't quite understand," So you've lived in the Chantry all your life?"

"Not always," Alistair said, his voice muted and sounding slightly distracted, "I used to live with Arl Eamon for a while in Redcliffe."

Thoroughly confused, she repeated, "Wait…so you lived with Arl Eamon—the same one we are going to speak to?—first, and then the Chantry raised you, and trained you to be a templar—which you never became because you were recruited into the Grey Wardens, yes?"

"That's my life in a nutshell, minus the epic dragon-slaying and millions of disciplinary trips to the Revered Mother's office." He smiled his infectious grin and Karia found herself smiling with him. It was hard to keep a straight face with Alistair.

"So…tell me about when Arl Eamon raised you, " she prodded some more, wishing to understand the man with whom they would be seeking an audience in the next few days, desiring answers as to why her fellow Warden was sent to the Chantry.

"No, no, no," Alistair corrected, "I _lived_ with Arl Eamon. I was actually raised by a pack of flying dogs from the Anderfels."

_Ridiculous. He's absolutely ridiculous!_ She raised a brow, knowing for a certainty that this time he was teasing, and decided to tease back, "That must have been very hard for them."

"Quite," he agreed, "You know, flying dogs have a great affinity for all sorts of cheeses…"

"That would explain the smell, too," plugging her nose daintily, she turned her face away from him, but she could still hear the smile in his voice when he replied,

"Yes, but they were very devout. They reared me in the ways of the Chantry—"

"And then sold you into the Chantry?"

Well…" he stuttered, "Yes, but—"

"Alistair, very soon," she teased, grabbing a long stick from beside the log upon which she sat that they had been using to stoke the fire, "I am going to hit you."

He recoiled a bit, laughing, "No, don't hit me! I bruise easy!"

Karia grinned, and then began to laugh, a full smile breaking across her face. Dropping the stick, the little elf slid to the ground, the laughter shaking her off from the intensity. Several of the other party members looked on, most deciding to ignore the commotion, busy with their own conversations. Alistair was so surprised at her reaction, he almost forgot to forgot to laugh, too. _She's really smiling! Maker, I did it! She's smiling! _That more than anything lit a smile on his face that warmed his heart for the rest of the night.

Eventually, the laughter subsided, and Karia pushed the stray hair back from her face. Her cheeks were red and glowing, and Alistair had to catch his breath, _Do all elves look so perfect?_ He had to purposely make himself stare into her eyes, but then the depth of them pulled him in and for a moment, his mind was drowning, _Look away—quick, before she gets nervous. Blast it all, I'm more nervous than she is._ Tearing his enraptured eyes away, he stared into the fire,

"In any case…yes, Arl Eamon raised me," he continued seriously, "The problem with that was…I am—" he paused, giving her a quick glance, "—a bastard. And before you make any comments, I mean the fatherless kind," a small grin twitched at his lips before he continued, "Feeling pity for me, I guess, he raised me as though I were his son. People often said that I was the product of an affair, but it wasn't true…the Orlesian woman that he remarried, however, hated those rumors. So eventually, he sent me to the Chantry."

Karia cocked her head, "Why?"

"There was really nothing else he could do, though I admit, I was furious about it," he shook his head, remembering the young, reckless boy he once was. Karia whispered softly,

"I'm sorry…that is a horrible thing to do to a child."

Alistair sighed, "I blamed him. I treated him horribly. He came to visit a few times, but I would have none of it. I was so angry at being left…and eventually he stopped coming. There was one thing I had of my mother's—a delicate Chantry amulet. It was the only thing I had in the world. When I found I was leaving, I threw it against the wall of the Arl's study and it shattered..." raising a hand to slowly comb through his hair, he sighed, "What a stupid, _stupid _thing to do…"

_Yes, it was…_Karia agreed, _but… _"You were young, Alistair," she rationalized.

"Young and foolish," he amended, resignedly, "And then Duncan…" a flash of pain crossed his face, "…he was the only father I really had."

There was silence, now, as each was lost in their own thoughts, _He went through so much as a little boy. My life was much simpler. I had a family that loved me and nurtured me. It was circumstance, not the people, that battered my life. He had it much worse. Circumstance was kind in bringing him from the people who hurt him. At least, until Ostagar…_

She shifted to rest comfortably looking up at the stars. She had expected more awkwardness to come of the stillness with him, but the quiet was amazingly comfortable. He stretched his long legs out and stared up at them with her, feeling a bit guilty for pouring his burdens on her. Sheepishly, he stole a glance at the elf, but found her gaze captured by the twinkling orbs above them. _She looks so small and helpless, yet I know she isn't. I wonder if…_

"What about you?" he suddenly asked, startling her out of her reverie, "Have you lost anyone close to you?"

Karia didn't answer immediately. A cool breeze wafted her hair out of place, but she ignored it. The night was still, the earth was silent, save the soft snores from those in camp who had long since retired. Deep blues faded into blacks as she stared unseeing into the distant sky, searching for something she couldn't find. On nights like this, it seemed every problem in the world was far away—farther than the stars, father than the sun. Burdens drifted away on the gentle breezes—temporary relief in the night that only the light seemed to dispel, chaining the heartaches down upon each of them again with iron fetters. And yet moonlight, with its steady grace could remove those chains—for a price. _Memory._

Alistair shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she had heard him or not. But she had. It was all she could do to mask the inner struggle taking place within her. She had abandoned that past. She had abandoned that life. And yet memory served to bring every emotion and fear and pain back like a giant wave upon the ocean, crashing into the shore with unrestrained abandon. Each time, it dragged more of her resolve into the depths with it as it retreated. Each time, the sands of the giant wall she had constructed were shifted and replaced. In time, those defenses would crumble—and by her own doing. The heart was not made to be shielded away from truth.

Her voice was soft, strangled, when she answered, "Yes," and her green eyes looked up into Alistair's deep gold ones, "My fiancé was murdered on our wedding day," and before he could reply, she slipped out into the darkness to take the first watch.

Alistair stared after her, his mouth open in stunned silence. _Fiancé_? His thoughts raced in a hundred different directions, none of them ever finding conclusions, none of them even registering sense. For a reason he didn't quite understand, he felt his heart sink, _I wonder if she loved him?_ _I wonder if that's why she won't smile…_

_Oh, stop it, _he admonished himself, standing up to throw another log on the fire, _She smiled for you, tonight._

_Well…she smiled _at_ you…_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Hey again everyone! See? you didn't expect me to publish again so fast, did ya! Aha! Surprise! :) This week has been pretty good. A lot of things are going on all at once. My group is recording on Saturday, and then today was super hectic as usual. I was working Security and got flirted with terribly with a bunch of strange random people...kind of gave me ideas for when Zevran makes an appearance! no, don't get all excited, it's not this chapter. Maybe in the next few. ;) Thanks to everyone who reviewed: Lady Callia, Raven jadewolfe, and OKami23Kitsune, and for everyone who added me to their favorites list! I love you guys! You make writing so much more fun!_

___**~oOo~**_ _**oOo~**_ _**oOo~**_  


_Darkness…_

_She could hear the dragon—archdemon—whatever it was— roaring threats in the background. Karia groped for something solid in the blackness. Was she still in the Fade? Was this a dream? It felt so real… but she could see nothing but blackness and fire…_

_Fire?_

_She squinted in the ethereal reality and moved toward the smell of smoke and the dancing flickers of flames just beyond her reach. Gingerly shuffling her feet to avoid tripping, she felt her boot smack something solid, and realized she was standing upon the stone causeway at Lothering. Her hands felt the cold stone that was the railing, and she peered over the precarious perch at the city. What she saw twisted her stomach into a knot._

_Lothering was burning._

_The city was in a mass state of terror. Its citizens were running, screaming, abandoning everything to escape the fire, the burning, the death. Most, Karia realized with horror, were too late. Hundreds already lay dead in the streets, and many more were wounded. The caravans that had once held their possessions were overturned, the goods were left in heaped messes on the ground, utterly forgotten beside the present crisis. They swarmed north across the plains, running wildly, unaware of anything else but the dire need for escape. But from what?_

_Karia felt her body grow cold, and the electric tingling covered her skin—but this time fiercely, as though her body were both burning and freezing all at once. It was irritating and distracting. Something was terribly wrong. She cast her gaze across the southern plains and her breath caught in her throat at what she saw._

_Hundreds—nay, thousands of darkspawn were rushing into Lothering from the south, like a swarm of ants; their blackness covered everything. Their weapons were drawn and they were screaming vicious battle cries. Some of the faster ones were able to overtake a few of the slower refugees, and they slaughtered them where the poor peasants stood in helpless horror. Behind the front lines of Darkspawn hurlocks and genlocks were dreaded ogres, like the one she and Alistair had faced in the tower of Ishal, but instead being armored and bearing massive iron weapons that hewed down all that stood in their way. When the first villager was rent in twain by the bloodied weapon, Karia cried aloud, feeling for the first time the tears rolling down her cheeks. In a matter of minutes, the entire city was covered with the taint of the Darkspawn horde. _

_Lothering was lost._

_Karia tried to run, to turn away; but as she turned, she came face to face with the massive head of the Archdemon. Terror gripped her and she could do naught but stare as its dark eyes found hers. It reared back its colossal neck and its gaping maw opened in a terrible roar, drowning out Karia's terrified scream…_

_**~oOo~**_

The little elf sat up in her bedroll with a muffled cry. She was covered in a cold sweat and panting from the intensity of the dream. A pallid hand wiped the tangled auburn hair from her face while she took a few extra moments to calm her raw nerves. It was then that she realized that she was shaking. Very deftly, she rolled up her sleeping bag and changed into her simple traveling clothes and leather armor, being careful not to disturb Leliana, who was sharing the same tent. Buckling up the straps of her greaves and gauntlets, she ducked underneath the heavy flap of the tent and stepped outside.

The morning was dark and grey. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds and fog covered the rest of the landscape. Standing at the edge of camp was Morrigan, peering into the thickness with her uncanny witch's senses. They stood together in silence for a time before the apostate murmured in low undertones,

"The air is different today than the last," she raised her chin slightly, a pointed gesture, "Do you not feel it?"

Squinting into the miasma, Karia tried to gather her wits and _feel_ what the witch was talking about, "Yes…" she whispered, for the day was, indeed, different. Heavy, dark…overshadowed with invisible forebodings. She had simply imagined that it was due to the nightmare she had, and yet…the intensity at which the feelings lingered convinced her that it was no mere dream.

Moments later, Alistair stumbled out of his tent, spluttering and panting, and Morrigan rolled her eyes, "Ah, the idiot awakens…"

The Warden covered his face with his hands and rubbed his temples, trying to force himself into wakefulness. He blinked a few times and his vision focused on Karia, "Did you see that? The burning and—and the fire? Did you see it?"

She nodded, "Yes, I saw it."

Shaking his head, he ran a shaky hand through his hair, "It seemed so real. It was so intense! Like…like it was happening. That feeling…when you sense the darkspawn…I felt it. I _still_ feel it…a little…"

_A little?_ Karia furrowed her brows in thought, _I feel it too. It was a dream, yes? So, it should be gone! Why do I still have that sensation? _The coldness was still creeping across her body, the tingling began poking at her…burning one second, freezing the next…_Oh, Maker, no…_

"Alistair?" she sought his eyes and saw the same confusion she felt mirrored in him, "Do you feel it?"

He nodded, "It's stronger now…"

"Do you think…"

He was silent and his expression grave. Morrigan scowled, "Enough blustering from the both of you and rationalize the situation. What is this burning of which you speak?"

Karia took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. _This can't be happening. Not now. _"I can't explain, Morrigan. Not yet. Alistair," she motioned to him, "Come with me. They're close but I can't discern the distance as well as you can. Morrigan—wake the rest of the camp. We need to leave," and she emphasized, "immediately."

She turned on her heel and sprinted down the causeway, the other Warden following closely after. The sensation grew stronger the further south they went and Alistair mentioned this to his companion. Eventually, they reached the furthest point of the city and Karia stopped, out of breath. She leaned over the railing, panting, searching the fog for some sort of sign. Anything—everything! The crawling feeling across her skin became more intense and she scratched her arms unconsciously. The fog began to shift and through it she could see bits and pieces of the town. Beside her, Alistair cursed,

"Can't see a blasted thing…" he squinted and leaned over the edge of the railing, "Wait…" he tapped the stone next to her, "Do you hear that?" Karia inclined her head, trying to focus. There was the wind, which she could hear whistling in the trees and around the stone structures. The city beneath them was deathly silent and across the country side, it seemed that nothing else stirred…_all_ was silent.

"I can't hear anything…and that troubles me," she admitted, "What is happening down there?"

The other Warden shook his head, just as confused as his partner. Trying to pierce through the fog was impossible, yet they continued to listen and stare, hoping for some measure of relief from the intensity. Gradually, the mist began to part in places and bits and pieces of the sleepy town below came into sight. Karia continued farther down the ramp and into the city proper and suddenly, she _knew_…something was _desperately_ wrong.

The first scream to pierce the morning was heard from across the river—only a few yards from where she and Alistair stood. She swiveled to face the house and gasped when she realized that it was already in flames. It was the first disaster that sparked an even more disastrous chain reaction. Soon, the house beside it was flaming, with the fire moving rapidly to the other homes. Directly ahead of the Wardens, beside the Chantry, other houses began burning—and even the Chantry itself began to burn after a few more moments. The fire had been planned—the evil beasts had already infiltrated the city! And the Wardens were too late to stop them.

All at once, hysteria struck the villagers and they burst from their houses in a cacophony unlike anything Karia had ever seen before. The streets were suddenly filled with people—men and women, young and old, running aimlessly for their lives, the piteous cries drowned by the roaring flames engulfing the only life that they knew. It was then that the enemy showed itself. Leaping quickly from the dark shadows, a portion of the darkspawn army sprang upon the citizens, slaying the unlucky few that were not fast enough to flee.

Alistair drew his sword and the light from the fires glinted off of the cold steel. His eyes blazed with a righteous fury at the great injustice befalling the innocents running crazed and wretchedly through the streets. Karia stood beside him, her own weapon drawn and at the ready, memories of Ishal sweeping through her mind—images of darkness, fire, blood, death. She felt the steady rush of adrenaline begin to build within her and the taint in her blood begin to boil. Bodies of villagers pressed them back as they began to find direction, rushing the open causeway with frenzied, mindless desperation. Alistair and Karia pushed through the masses and guarded their flank while they continued to pour out. A few brave men halted and took up weapons to join the Wardens. They stood together, blocking the darkspawn's path, hewing them down and building a stone wall built of equal parts of determination and insanity. They couldn't hold out forever, but at least it would be giving their friends and family a chance.

From where they had been lying in wait throughout the city, the darkspawn began to arise, following the mob with bloodthirsty howls, like wolves on the hunt chasing their cornered prey. They swarmed the makeshift guards and attacked them with surprising strength. One genlock leaped upon Karia, knocking her backwards and leaving her struggling for her life as she rolled in the dirt with the monster, trying to gain the upper hand and finding their strengths too equal for any advantage. It clawed at her throat and she evaded, kicking its armored legs with her leather boot. It howled and tensed when she struck an unprotected joint. This gave the elf just enough time to shove the beast off of her with a solid smack—the palm of her hand slamming into the bridge of the darkspawn's nose. Its head snapped back with an audible crack and she knew by the way it was twitching before her, unable to retaliate, that she had broken its neck. It sickened her to be able to do so much damage—scared her, even. But it was hardly the time to contemplate such things.

Picking up the sword she had inadvertently dropped, she rushed to help a young boy who had been trapped by two hurlocks. He thrust a broomstick at the first one, and the second hurlock shoved him down ruthlessly. Before the other could run the boy through, Karia attacked, killing the first one and kicking the second one in the tender place behind its knees so that it dropped to the ground. It was enough time for her to free her sword and swing it out again to behead the monster. The boy backed away in fright and disgust at the slain beasts at his feet, feeling his stomach church. He ripped the wooden bucket that he had been using as a helmet from off of his head and leaned over a nearby crate to empty his upset stomach. Karia eased to his side, rubbing his back and ensuring that no darkspawn caught him unawares. He coughed and spluttered the last of it out of his mouth and then rubbed the residue away with his ragged sleeve. Large brown eyes met Karia's green ones and she could see the confusion and desperation written on his face,

"Miss…you're here to save us?"

The question caught her off guard and, for a moment, she couldn't speak. His eyes were so hopeful—there was something in them that could not be suppressed even amidst the death surrounding his fragile life. Logic told her that it could not be done. The town was already burning. And if she could trust the newfound instinct that the Joining had given her, the bulk of the darkspawn horde was just over the ridge leading into Lothering. It would be overrun, they would be killed, and the survivors mutilated and used for whatever dark purposes the darkspawn had in mind. It was hopeless. And yet…she refused to allow this boy—this young lad she had never before seen—believe that. There was _always_ hope. Often, perhaps, a fool's hope; but it was hope, nonetheless.

"Yes…" and, for a moment, she actually believed the words she spoke, as her strained voice rose above the din, "Yes, I am. I am a Grey Warden; and I am here to help you," she patted his shoulder and squeezed his arm, "And right now, I want you to run—hide—just get out of here. Stay alive. Alistair and I will do what we can."

"Where do I go? My family…" the tears stung his eyes, "I don't have anyone else…"

She felt her heart turn to lead and sink to her feet. _Poor child…_ But before she could answer, the nightmare she feared stepped from the shadows of the Fade and into reality, cresting the southern ridge and falling upon the mass of villagers while they were piled in the stone causeway. _They were trapped!_ Alistair ran to his companion's side, "We need to go!" and when she hesitated, he grasped her arm, "now!"

"I can't just leave them!" she screamed back, feeling her anger rise at his selfishness, _Can't he see they need us? _She thought.

_They'll kill us! There are too many! _His mind argued back, _What good will we be to Ferelden dead?_

Karia pulled to escape his grasp, but his grip was an iron manacle encircling her wrist—unyielding. He glared down at her and forcefully muttered, "I will _not_ let you die out here, whether you like it or not. We're leaving!"

"What about the others?" she cried, feeling distantly the tears running down her cheeks.

Alistair sighed, seeing the terrified boy behind the woman with whom he was arguing. They were running out of time. And so were the innocent villagers. Something melted his warrior's pragmatic resolve and he felt his determination slip.

"All right…" he relented, "We'll save whom we can…but we must hurry!" he urged her, pulling her forward with him. Taking control, his voice rose above the crowd, "Everyone! This way! To the river! Women and children first! Men, take up your weapons!" He ordered, repeating himself every few moments, trying to organize the crowd. Karia stood steadfastly beside him, guiding whom she could towards their destination. Since the majority of the darkspawn within the town had been slain by Alistair and a few brave men, it was relatively safe enough for them to continue northwards. Her voice rose between Alistair's shouts,

"Cross the bridge! Head for the northern plains!" she directed them, her arms flailing in exaggerated directions, "North! Go north! Quickly!"

As desperately as they tried to salvage the majority of their lives, many were unfortunate enough to have already crested the hill and were mowed over by the unrelenting tide of darkspawn. _Too fast!_ Karia thought, watching the wave of darkness flood over the brink and onto the southernmost ramparts with an unexpected ferocity. And suddenly she realized how right Alistair had been. They should have run—disappeared while there had still been time. Now they would all die. Two Wardens could hardly make a difference against the multitudes of evil chasing them. And yet…what was the price of the lives they were trying to save? She pushed the thoughts aside. There would be time for philosophizing later—or would there? She would simply have to see.

Alistair's thoughts seemed to mirror hers and she should see the sadness in his eyes as realization dawned upon him. Flooding into the valley with a swiftness that only pure hatred could sustain were their enemies; and on the other side, drifting out in waves of panic and mass disorganization were the lives they wanted to, but could not, save. Caught in between like a piece of driftwood upon a tempestuous ocean, they could do nothing but _wait._

Steel determination replaced the terror in Karia's heart as she saw the village men rallying around her and Alistair. They would not go down without a fight. It was for their loved ones they remained and it was for their lives they would lay down their own. She could do naught else but admire their spirit. She gazed up at Alistair and saw the same resolve in his eyes as he spoke to them, "Take up what weapons you can. The darkspawn will soon be here, and we shall meet them! We'll buy your families enough time to reach safety."

The men gave a courageous cry and brandished high their weapons. Karia recognized the face of the boy she had rescued earlier standing amidst the crowd and wished to beg him to leave—to make him run. But there was no time. For only moments after Alistair ended his speech, the first wave of the darkspawn army came rushing down from the hill. Bracing themselves, the two Wardens ran to meet their foes, crashing into the thick masses with a battle cry and the village men joined them enthusiastically.

Alistair, again, took the main brunt of the battle, while Karia watched his unguarded back and sides. They were a team in the heat of battle, and it bolstered their courage to know that the other could be depended upon though through the most intense situations. Alistair swung his steel sword into the masses of genlocks and Karia's slender sword pierced through the chinks in the oncoming foes' armor, stopping them dead in their tracks and lightening the waves that swarmed her warrior friend.

Adrenaline carried them through the first wave generally undaunted and uninjured. Yet the second wave was worse. Another score of hurlocks and genlocks swarmed over them with their weapons drawn, lips curled in feral snarls, and eyes wide open and bloodthirsty. And only seconds after that, the third wave followed. _Too many, too fast…_

Alistair met them again with renewed force and Karia leapt to follow him. His strokes were powerful, and accurate, yet for every one that fell, it seemed three more toke its place. They gained no ground, but lost very little. However, the hectic battling came with a high price in their energy. It could not go on forever. The fighting continued for long minutes and the number of men standing with them began to dwindle. The Wardens were tiring and Karia knew that Alistair was in no condition to face the entire bulk of the army. As strong as he was, and as efficient as she was, she had not been able to hinder the attacks of many of the darkspawn and their weapons had pierced him in various places. Blood was pouring from one prominent wound in his shoulder, and he had long since dropped his shield from exhaustion. Karia tugged his arm—it was time to go. Even she was battered and beaten, more than she cared to admit. Every move she made seemed to reveal another gash, and her armor was hardly strong enough to protect her from their heavy weapons.

Weakly, he nodded his head, and shouted to the remaining men to fall back over the bridge. Some of the men would make it. Others would not. Karia was glad to see that the boy was yet alive and had already dashed across the river towards the plains—running as fast as his legs could carry him. She prayed to the Maker that he'd survive.

Alistair gripped another injury on his side, pulling Karia with him as he raced toward the bridge. They only had a few moments before another group of darkspawn broke through. They supported each other, each relying on the other's willpower to keep themselves steady as they limped and loped by turns. Behind them still were the blood-curdling screams of the monsters and ahead were still audible the frightened shrieks of the villagers. Some would survive—but most would not. Still, some time had been bought for those few who would live to see the morrow. _Some _time. It was not up to the two Wardens to find their own salvation. Standing and fighting had proven to be futile—and neither of them would have been much of a challenge in any case, as exhausted as they were. Their only hope was in the few members they had left back at camp—if they could reach them in time.

They were at the edge of the northern plains where Sten's cage still lay across from the windmill. Alistair slowed and dropped to his knees at the edge of the tall building, laying himself down in the yellowed grass, unable to move farther. Karia knelt beside him, grimacing at the severity of his wounds. _Oh Maker, what have I done?_ She felt more tears stinging her face and rolling down her bloodied and bruised cheeks, _We couldn't save them…and now we can't save ourselves…_After a few minutes, Alistair pushed himself up to his knees, still breathing heavily. His voice was raspy as he spoke to her,

"Can you still walk?"

"Yes," she replied, "but can you?"

He didn't reply to the query, but stood and helped her to her feet, "We'll make it. Just…just stay close, all right?" he tried to reassure her with a steadiness in his voice, but the words were slurred and weak.

She nodded, trusting him implicitly. Alistair swallowed back his fear, wishing that _he_ could trust himself as much as she did at this moment. Glancing in each direction quickly, he ensured that nothing was after them. _Yet_. And hastily, they broke from their cover, making a mad dash toward the campsite. But they had been spotted.

Atop the causeway ramparts, a genlock shrieked back a signal and from the shadows beside the river, and several hundred darkspawn came hurtling at them, the noise of their feet upon the sodden earth like the rolling of thunder, shaking the ground and halting the two Wardens from their intended destination. They had been sighted—they had been caught. It was the _end. _

Karia closed her eyes, not wanting to see her own death. Not yet. She could sense Alistair taking a stand in front of her and she almost smiled. _And he tries to protect me?_ They were less than a hundred yards away and drawing nearer with every step. Only a few more seconds and it would all be over…

Then suddenly the ground erupted with a ferocious blast. Fire scattered in every conceivable direction and shook the earth upon which they stood with enormous quaking. Karia and Alistair—along with the darkspawn—were cast backwards upon the ground from the strength of the blast. Half of the crazed darkspawn that had been chasing them had been killed or severely burned and the rest of them had been stunned, having borne the brunt of the explosion.

Karia was stunned, herself. It _had_ to have been an explosion, but its source caused her great confusion until she heard a familiar voice calling her from the stone ramp, "Run, you fools! Get out of there!"

_Bodahn!_

With renewed bursts of energy, the two Wardens chased after the dwarf's caravan. The rest of the party was waiting, armed and ready to defend. From afar, Karia could feel the witch's healing spell wash over her, easing the pain and mending the minor wounds. It gave her enough energy to make it to their campsite before collapsing on the unyielding ground in a heap of breathless, silent sobs. Alistair, ever the warrior, helped her back to her feet, "We're not out of the woods yet…" he reminded her, handing her to Bodahn, who eased her into the back of one of the caravans, "We need to go—right now. The city is lost and there is an entire army of darkspawn just behind us."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" demanded the merchant, "Let's be off!" he clucked to the heavyset horses leading the caravan and set them moving forward at a quick and steady speed while the other members of the party hopped onto the following wagon caravans. Alistair swung himself into the first one with Karia, pulling Morrigan with him, though the witch protested. It was a token resistance as she could clearly see the need for her healing spells.

"Can you help her?" he motioned at the elf curled into a tight ball on the floor of the wagon.

The witch sniffed disdainfully at the question, "Of course I can, and you know this. Just be silent and perhaps I can help you as well," she admonished. Obediently, he kept his mouth shut. The wounds were not serious, but the loss of blood was causing them the most difficulty. Morrigan had to concentrate to focus the magic into the appropriate patterns to heal _internally,_ for the wounds had gone deeper than a simple healing spell would cover.

_That fool…and yet he seems genuinely concerned…_ she thought of the anxious Warden sitting silently in the corner, _He might actually care about the little elfling. _Her brows creased as she stitched the magic bonds in a pattern, sewing the flesh together with her mind, _It is a curious thing, to care. They could have died in that dreadful town, yet something made them stay. 'Tis foolish and reckless, yet it drives these people. 'Tis something to consider, leastways._

When her work on the elf was finished, she turned her attentions to Alistair's wounds, which were every bit as serious as her last patient's. Her energy was completely spent by the time she finished, and she chided herself for not having the capacity to do more, _I am daughter of the Witch of the Wilds…one would assume I could heal more than two little Wardens at a time…_ _and yet_…_my specialty is destruction and primal. Creation was never one of my strongest subjects._ It was hardly a viable excuse for her, yet it made her feel less inadequate for the moment.

Karia had fallen asleep in the wagon almost immediately, and was unaware of the events taking place—neither of Morrigan's magic, nor of the silent vigil of her fellow Warden over her as they jostled northwards and out of the reach of the darkspawn. Alistair sat cross-legged and bone weary across from her within the enclosed space of the caravan. Even in his state of extreme exhaustion, he found his mind still spinning tirelessly.

Everything had happened so quickly. Within one morning, an entire town had been decimated, leaving nearly all of its residents dead, wounded, missing, or lost—scattered somewhere across the northern plains of Ferelden, left as prey to scavengers and bands of brigands. The few of them that would make it to safety would have literally nothing. The taint of the darkspawn would make it virtually impossible for them to ever begin their lives anew, assuming they would live long enough after the next darkspawn invasion to get the chance.

The young Warden shuddered at the depressing thought. The ferocity with which the genlocks attacked had been frightening. They were filthy, inhumane creatures. The very thought of them stirred within him a righteous, passionate anger and hatred. Was there no way to be rid of them for good? The Blight had only just begun and yet Alistair was sick of it. He had lost too much, and it was only just the start. There was still yet more to lose, still much more pain and death. He clenched and unclenched his fists unconsciously, feeling the frustration building within him. Releasing a long breath, he finally stood—albeit, hunched over a bit to avoid his head hitting the top of the caravan—and gingerly stepped over the various piles of merchandise to sit at the front of the wagon beside Bodahn.

The old dwarf was flicking the reins gently, his wrinkled hands expertly maneuvering the beasts over the rough terrain. His eyes were squinted in concentration as the team sped away from the burning city. Alistair stood and looked back from whence they had come and the sight tore at his heart. Smoke billowed from the tops of the blackened houses—what was left standing—and the flames were still crackling ferociously. He could faintly see the figures of the refugees running farther off behind them, turning eastwards. Closing his eyes, he sent a prayer to the Maker that He would help guide them and protect them.

He scanned the other caravan. The next one had Sandal directing it, which surprised the Warden slightly, seeing as how the addled youngster was driving seemingly as skillfully as his father. Within that wagon were Leliana and Morrigan and the mabari, with Sten sitting beside the little dwarf, silent as a statue. Behind them were several scores of darkspawn giving furious chase. Occasionally, he would see one stumble and fall and he realized that Leliana was putting her archery to good use. He had to blink when the tip of Morrigan's staff erupted with a burst of flames, consuming the genlocks that had gotten too close to the rear of the wagon. Eventually, the monsters stopped chasing altogether, turning aside to pursue the remaining prey on foot.

Alistair settled into the hard, unyielding wooden seat on the wagon, trying to flex his sore muscles but finding hardly enough room to do so. Even though Morrigan's magic had been able to heal his wounds, his body still ached from the strenuous activity. He had always been very well conditioned and fit, yet no amount of training could ever prepare a soldier for the massive adrenaline rush of battle. The stress was different in battle than it was in training and the muscles, though functioning the same, are used more forcefully than when in a friendly fight. He could never quite get the soreness out of his shoulders after hefting about his slender longsword. The achiness often continued for days at a time, unless otherwise remedied with a rubdown, which he knew would be a rare commodity on their journey.

The caravans rattled and bumbled forward, and Bodahn, fearing that a few brave darkspawn would still attempt to give chase, angled toward the forested area to the east. The lead wagon struck a large rock and Alistair had to frantically grope for something to hold on to in order to keep from bouncing off of the seat. Fearing for the little elf inside the wagon, he gingerly removed one hand from his precarious perch and lifted the heavy canvas to peer inside.

The lurch had jolted Karia awake, and she had involuntarily reached out for the closest object to her to steady herself. When the large crate she was holding began to slide, she was forced into wakefulness and crawled to the front of the wagon and was watching her dwarf rescuer. Of course, at that moment, Alistair was moving to look inside. They timed it perfectly—or horribly—since they reached the small opening at the same time and their noses bumped right up against each others. Karia squeaked in surprise and fell backwards, and Alistair, mortified, wheeled to face the front in order to hide the deep blush that was creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. _Blast it all!_

Karia picked herself up delicately and brushed her leggings off, trying to maintain a measure of dignity. Had she not been so worried about what was happening behind them in Lothering, she might have found the situation hilarious. As it were, she simply chose to ignore it, which was more than all right with her fellow Warden.

The rolling wheels of the wagon drowned out her thoughts as she tried to piece together the next step. They could not return to Lothering, and the only answer was to move forward—but to where? Arl Eamon was the next logical step, yet it made her the most nervous. He was a dignitary—nobility. Certainly her elfin heritage would become a problem: it always had been; it always would be. How would they react to an elfin Warden?

_What can I do? I'm nobody. This world is too big and the Blight is too strong. Who am I to face such a task?_ She wondered, feeling the gravity of the situation descend upon her, _I couldn't save Duncan. I couldn't help Lothering. Why did I survive and not Ser Jory? Or Daveth? Why did I survive instead of…of Duncan? Or even Nelaros?_

Another pitch in the wagon sent her stumbling forward, and she grasped the wooden ribs of the little cart. It was enough of a jolt to bring her back to the present. There would be plenty of time to contemplate the past once they were rid of the darkspawn on their heels. All that was left to do for the moment was run.

"Hold on tight, you two," Bodahn warned them suddenly, gripping the reins tightly, "We're in for an even bumpier ride. We're almost to the forest, now," and he gave a whoop, drowning out Alistair's disgruntled groan. As instructed, Karia grabbed a handful of the canvas wagon cover and settled into a corner where she could still look outside the flap. It was going to be a _very_ long ride, indeed.

Dark had been the morning, and noon brought no more light than before. Only an hour or so after the sun reached its zenith, the caravans were soon engulfed by the claustrophobic interior of the forest. Due to the volume of trees and for the horses own benefit, Bodahn slowed the team down to a crawl compared to the pace they had set earlier. The poor beasts were frothing at the mouth and wheezing from the exertion. And because of the wood's density, they were becoming skittish.

Long, gnarled branches leaned ominously above them and the canopy of leaves above shaded them from any sunlight that might have appeared. The forest's undomesticated nature greatly resembled the Korcari Wilds, though rather than darkspawn infested swamps, these woods contained grand oaks and birches that were harbors to completely different dangers. She glanced nervously across the way at the dancing shadows, hovering about them like ghosts and felt an unnatural fear begin to tug at her mind. These woods were no mere witch's playground as was the last one, but something much older and darker and wilder. It seemed as though the trees lived and were speaking to each other in rattles and groans, plotting to eliminate the strangers who so boldly intruded upon their sanctuary. The mere thought sent chills running up and down her spine.

_Groan…creak…rattle…_Karia's eyes darted rapidly back and forth, trying to follow the sounds, but the noises seemed to be surrounding them on all sides. Behind them, she could hear Morrigan muttering curses under hear breath, trying to mask her own fear with useless bravado while Leliana—ever the sweet one—gently chided the woman,

"This is no call for foul language, Morrigan."

"No call?" the witch retorted, "Oh, but of course being jumbled and knocked about across the countryside is hardly _any_ call for _foul_ language. I am quite ashamed of myself…" sarcasm dripped from every word, yet, the optimistic Chantry sister seemed completely undaunted,

"I forgive you," and she flashed the dark-haired woman a broad grin. Miffed, Morrigan crossed her arms and turned away.

Bodahn tugged once more at the reins, this time halting the team. He seemed genuinely uncomfortable as he mentioned, "We will find no 'shelter' here, it seems. I can't see any break in the trees, whatsoever," he crossed his arms, "And I don't know about you, but I don't exactly wish to delve deeper in than necessary."

"I agree," huffed Morrigan, leaping from the back of the other wagon and striding to the first one, "and vote to _never_ do that again."

Alistair raised his hand, "I second that!" and Borvo barked his own agreement.

The witch raised a brow at the Warden, "Hm…did that bouncy ride upset our little hero's seat?"

He frowned at her, "That was just mean."

"Oh, tsk. I am so sorry," she put a pale hand to her cheek in mock remorse, "How stupid of me."

Alistair turned to face her and his voice rose in irritation, "Why do you always go on and talk to me like I'm stupid? I'm not stupid…am I?"

"Well, if you need to ask the question…" she pointed out cunningly.

Trying to maintain some of his dignity, he sniffed in slight jest, "It hurts my manly feelings, you know. All one of them…"

"Oh," Morrigan sighed, flipping a dark strand of hair out of the way, "Then I'll be sure to write you an apology letter once this is all over with," but Alistair was still mumbling,

"See, I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history! I mean, they don't make _stupid_ templars."

"I see I was obviously mistaken then…" Morrigan said through gritted teeth, trying to sustain her composure even though feeling severely annoyed with the man's sense of humor that was so easily contradicting hers, "I am _very_ impressed."

"No you're not," he sulked, crossing his arms and tilting his nose in the air in mock indignation, "You're not even listening to me."

"My, my, my!" Morrigan exclaimed, "You _are_ smarter than I thought. The Chantry must be so _very _proud," she lifted her chin proudly and turned away. Alistair waited until she turned her back and then stuck his tongue out at her.

Leliana snickered at the two of them, "It's amazing how in the face of dire turmoil, the two of you can find time to pick at each other. It's amusing really," she flashed a smile at the tall Warden who shrugged it off feeling slightly childish. He glanced at Karia and was a little relieved to see her with an amused grin on her face, trying very hard not to laugh. He cast her a broad grin of his own and began to step out of the wagon. However, as soon as he raised himself, his knees locked and he yelped as he tumbled out of the seat and onto the grassy forest terrain. Now Karia was _really_ laughing—as were Leliana, Morrigan, Sandal, and even the mabari. Sten, of course, watched everything in stony, contemplative silence.

Disturbed by the clamor, Bodahn waved his hands erratically, "Pipe down," he growled and scanned the woods with suspicion, "These aren't safe parts. And it ain't just darkspawn here."

Irked at having been shushed, the witch challenged, "And where exactly _are_ 'these parts'?"

Bodahn's eyes narrowed and he replied to her in a wary undertone, "This, madam, is—"

And somewhere from the shadows a new voice spoke in a threatening manner, "This is the Brecilian Forest. And _you_ are trespassing..."


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: This is the moment you have all been waiting for! ;) And I'm not going to tell you what it is! It's at the end. But if you skip the rest of the chapter to read the end, I will find out and go kung-fuey on you. Ha! Just kidding. :) Anywho, I hope you all are doing well! Thanks to all that reviewed and added me. You're what makes this so much fun! Let the Good Times Roll!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Karia spun around, trying to pinpoint the direction from which the voice came. All was darkness around her. The voice seemingly came out of nowhere for there was no evidence of a physical being to project it. Casual forest sounds continued to mingle with the tight breaths of her companions. Around her, they frenetically scanned the foliage surrounding them, grouping close together for safety.

Picking himself from off the ground, Alistair sidled close to his fellow Warden. From the lack of sensation, he discerned that the enemy was obviously not darkspawn, yet he hardly believed it was any less dangerous. He knew immediately by the consternation written across his companions' faces that the enemy's location was still a mystery, and therefore did not bother looking. Drawing his weapon was all he could do, which brought about the reaction he so desired,

"Put that down, knight," the male voice growled, "You'll have no need of that."

Leliana, first to distinguish the position, spun around to face it, notching and arrow and aiming in the span of a heartbeat, "I know where you stand. Come out and face us!" she challenged, "Only cowards hide behind trees."

The challenge backfired, for another voice answered from another direction, "You're outnumbered. Put your weapons down or we _will_ shoot," the new voice was higher—obviously female. The Chantry rogue glanced at her leader for direction, the defiance to the order written clearly on her face. Karia nodded imperceptibly and the red-head slowly lowered her weapon. Alistair followed suit, realizing what little good a sword could do against invisible foes. It seemed they had little choice but to wait.

Not knowing what was to come caused Karia to feel more than a little apprehensive. _Out of the frying pan into the fire, it seems…We escape from danger only to walk into an entire forest of it. How does this happen?_ She glared insolently at seemingly nothing, refusing to back down. _It was a mistake. I refuse to cater to thieves._ Staring into the forest, knowing she was at a great disadvantage yet not caring, Karia replied,

"I would have words with you before any action is taken."

"No," was the stern reply, "You have come much too close and we _cannot_ allow you to continue further, regardless of what you say. Either you turn around and leave as quickly as you came, or there will be severe consequences."

They meant business. Yet eight lives were at stake, and she was not to be bullied, "I am a Grey Warden. We come in peace. We have just nearly escaped the burning of Lothering and sought some refuge. It is by accident that we have trespassed," she hoped her words sounded as equally authoritative as she felt ineffective. The silence that ensued was not encouraging.

The leaves of the trees rustled, and Karia perceived that whatever lay within their boughs was using the branches as some sort of communication device. A few moments later, a muted _thud_ directly ahead of them caused them all a great deal of surprise, as, before them, stood the most unexpected creature imaginable: a Dalish elf.

She was taller than Karia by only a few inches and her long hair was golden blond. Blue eyes narrowed to take in all of the offenders and she sniffed disdainfully from an upturned nose. Her full lips were curled into a straight line and finely chiseled jaws were clenched as she attempted to control the many queries she wished to pose to them. Cautiously, she approached, expertly holding her notched arrow upon the tight string of her ash longbow. Suspicion tinted her words as she spoke again,

"A Grey Warden? Here?" she looked the little elf over and her lips curled into a mocking grin, "Not you. You are elfin, as we are. Such a thing is unheard of."

Karia stepped forward slightly, "I _am_ a Grey Warden. With the Blight on Ferelden's doorstep, I am sure the Warden's Order can hardly afford to be picky about their recruits."

The other elf frowned, deeply in thought, "A Grey Warden, you say? I suppose this may be true. But I still have no other proof that you are what you claim to be aside from your word. And the Dalish do not easily trust the words of a stranger," and pointedly, she raised a brow. Catty glances took in Karia's shoddy armor and rumpled appearance, "You strike me as Dalish, yet you bear no identification—no _tattoos, _as the shemlin put it—nothing of your clan's. Why is this?"

Karia's mind whirled and she fought to keep her face neutral. _She might allow us safe passage if I can bluff a Dalish heritage! What is this tattoo they speak of? What identification does she mean? And what viable excuse could I give for why I don't still have it?_ After only a moment, she replied slowly, "Because my 'clan' is now with the Grey Wardens," _Aha! _She hid a pleased smile, _this seems reasonable, yes? _"Through blood was I made Dalish, and through blood again became I a Warden." _Excellent, Karia!_ She thought to herself, _How much more official of a reason do they need?_

Frowning even deeper, the blond elf pondered this response for a moment, "'Tis a likely answer…" she eyed the rest of the group for a moment longer before gingerly lowering her weapon, "Very well. I will take you to our Keeper. _He_ will know what to do with you."

Another elf suddenly materialized beside the blond. His complexion was darker than his companion's, with brown hair and light green eyes. When he stood straight, he was yet another inch or so taller than the blond elf. Much about the two was different save their chiseled features and the curious markings painted across their faces. Not to mention, their armor matched in numerous places. Both sets were a unique variety of studded leather. They wore a reinforced, but still light and agile breastplate with a sturdy, engraved placard beneath that. Extending from the placard was a triple lamed fauld, leaving more than enough room for the pleated leather tassets, which allowed for easy movement and soundless motion, to protect the upper thighs. The greaves were simple, but designed more for support than protection. Similar to this was the gauntlet which functioned as both melee protection and an arm guard for the archer. The design was brilliantly practical and artistic.

"We should blindfold them," the dark haired elf muttered, "I would feel safer knowing that this _mistake_ had no chance of repeating itself," he narrowed his eyes in warning, "and bringing more of these _shem_…" he spat the last word out as though it were filthy and Karia couldn't help but feel that it truly _was_ an insult. Yet to ask would only forfeit any status she currently had.

The taller elf's companion glared at him, "Silence. One of them may yet be our own."

"_May _be is not certain," he argued in an undertone, "She admitted to being kin to the _Wardens_ now…one of the Shemlin."

The other shook her head, "The Keeper can decide for himself. Not every intruder claims to be a Grey Warden, and Shemlin or not, the Dalish and Wardens have remained allies for some time. It would be wiser to let him decide."

Reluctantly, the elfin man agreed, though he glared angrily at the small company of travelers. He gave a curt signal and out of the darkness emerged a score of elfin hunters, each with their arrows notched and ready to fire. Karia gulped down a startled cry. It was as if they were forming right out of the very vapors of the air—it was so sudden, so silent, so smooth. She cast Alistair a sideways glance, and she could see the apprehension in his own eyes. Without further ado, the tall elf barked an order and the entire procession moved forward into the forest.

Karia let her eyes wander for a while, trying to take in her surroundings; but it was proving to be a very difficult and frustrating task. If she took her eyes too often from the ground, she would trip over the protruding tree roots for the forest floor was covered with tangled undergrowth; and if she stared too often at the ground then she would bump into the elves surrounding her, or get her hair tangled in the low branches of the trees. The gnarled branches hung low like cold, dead fingers, reaching desperately to snatch poor, unsuspecting souls. Crows with glaring red eyes perched upon some of the higher branches and glared predatorily at the group of people beneath them. The small city elf found this unnerving and averted her gaze, fearful that the wild scavengers could feel her fear.

Eventually, Karia tired of trying to discern the direction. They path they were taking led them in so many different directions, curving east, then curving west, backtracking, and finally setting a straight course. But, of course, by then, they had lost all sense of direction and were following the elfin hunters blindly. This being the case, the little elf turned her attentions to the other elves surrounding her. Curiously enough, their features greatly resembled her own—chiseled, delicate, and slight. Studying them made her curious as to her true identity. Her ancestors could not have all been born in Denerim, yet family heritage was not a highly discussed topic within the alienage. Parenting was communal since most of the children were free to run as they wished in the streets. There was little discipline. Her own home was different, as her father and mother took an active part in rearing her. However, to have unconcerned and indifferent parents was the norm, and heritage and blood were no more important than last year's news.

One thing was vastly different from the city elves that was all too apparent in the Dalish was that they were skittish and fearful whereas city elves were more cunning and less edgy. The way that their eyes darted back and forth between the shadows and the way they reacted defensively to every sudden noise indicated to Karia that there was something very unnatural occurring within the Brecilian Forest—and it wasn't just Darkspawn. The Dalish were in danger, just as every other race of people in Ferelden. Also, the fact that they had so quickly assumed that the wearied travelers bode ill simply reinforced her suspicion. No doubt, the reason that they had allowed the strangers safe passage thus far was because the Dalish needed help. The little elf felt her spirit drop just wondering exactly what they had walked into.

They traveled at a brisk pace, yet the journey took them a good half hour before the group came across the elfin camp. Two watchmen stood on the outskirts and met the lead elfin hunters leading the party and conversed with them in their strange tongue. Karia strained to discern a few of the words and managed to pick out a few that resembled the shoddy elfin that was used occasionally in the alienage. Beside her, Leliana whispered,

"What are they saying?"

Karia shook her head, "I can't make out everything, but I know that the two sentries are greatly alarmed. The hunters are trying to convince them to let us pass to see their Keeper."

The Chantry sister shifted uneasily, "I wish they would hurry. There is something…strange..." she shook her head, "I can't describe it. Do you see how uneasy they are?"

"I noticed," the city elf agreed, "But I cannot describe it either."

Sten, behind her, was growing restless. He had several of the hunters surrounding him with arrows still drawn and ready to shoot within a moment's notice. From the way that his stern face was contorted, Karia could tell that he was incredibly uncomfortable and becoming increasingly aggravated. She tried to glance back at him and give him a reassuring nod, but he continued to stare straight ahead as though he could not see her. With a sigh, she turned away and continued her efforts to eavesdrop.

Alistair crossed his arms grumpily after hearing Karia's whispered explanation to Leliana. _Uneasy? They don't have a right to be uneasy! Look who's outnumbered! Look who is surrounded! _He cast wary eyes about himself and continued his inward complaining, _We ought to be heading West to Arl Eamon's estate, that's what. How on earth are we supposed to convince these distrustful elves to help us?_ Across from him was Morrigan and from the way she was glaring, he knew that she was just as unhappy about the situation as he was, although, he could guarantee, for very different reasons than his own. He glanced down at the mabari who was impatiently pawing at the ground, "I know, old boy," he whispered, giving him a half-hearted grin, "Not to worry though. Things'll look up for us soon," and he smiled when the dog wagged his stubby tail in response, though the dismal thought cynically reminded him, _They'll only be looking up because they can't possibly get any worse than this…_

The witch could sense Alistair's eyes upon her and she cringed. _Foolish one…_ she thought, _'Twas his and that blasted elf's fault that we are even here. If they had not gone back for that doomed village, we would be headed towards our intended course as we speak. But no…_ and her brows furrowed as she contemplated, _they _had_ to go back… What made them go? We had not known a single soul in that village. What did it matter? Insignificant lives…useless things…_ she stifled a growl of frustration at not being able to comprehend their logic. _What made them risk it?_ The question made her think upon it more than she desired to, but it was compelling for several reasons that she had not yet come to understand. _I will think on this for a time. Mother was strangely silent and evasive about such things…_

Eventually, the sentries and the hunters came to a mutual agreement and proceeded to herd Karia and her companions along like cattle to a small holding area just before entering the Dalish camp proper. None too gently, they were pushed aside and forced into a small circle so that they could be closely guarded while the senior guards ran their report to the Dalish Keeper. Unable to do much else, the group sat in impatient silence.

Karia folded her legs against her chest and rested her chin atop her knees and tried to make her tensed muscles relax. It was easily done, for the soft green grass beneath her was a comfortable resting place, and the nature sounds since nearing the camp had become less hostile and more mysterious. She closed her eyes for a moment and simply listened. Crickets chirped from within the forest's shadows, and a few small animals had the courage to scurry about and investigate the commotion occurring within the elfin encampment. Those were sounds piqued her interest for she had not had prior experience with any other animals than the stray dogs, cats, and rats within the alienage. Curious eyes followed the trail of a rabbit and she stared in wonder at the funny looking creature. _Such long ears! It must have such a terrible time of tripping over those excessive things!_

Unknown to the elf, her Warden companion was watching her in silent contemplation, not entirely sure what to make of her. Having narrowly escaped death and destruction once more, and now having no other alternative but to wait gave Alistair more time than he desired to reflect upon the previous night. It troubled him, more than he would admit, that she had once had a fiancé. _No…it's that she cared about him. Probably talked to him. Probably enjoyed him and knew him tons better than she wants to know you…_ he confessed to himself. Why he was feeling so jealous about it was a complete mystery to him, _other than the fact that she's absolutely beautiful, and sweet, and smart, and brave…_

Little did he know that about the time he was considering this, Karia's thoughts were running amuck, _This is ridiculous. At this rate, it seems the more I would like to know these comrades, the less I am able. They are probably wearier than I, and yet here I sit—pouting in a corner—unable to do anything for them. How incredibly stupid. _She frowned, _What a cowardly thing to do, to hide in my own little world…and yet, how do I get out of it?_

Finally convicted about being selfish and lazy, the elfin lass stood gingerly to her feet and sat where she could communicate with the rest of her group. They watched her curiously while she fidgeted a bit and cleared her throat before asking in a hushed tone,

"With everything that has happened within the last day or so, we have hardly had enough time to think, and I apologize," she swallowed, "for not being as receptive to your needs as I ought to have been," and she took a deep breath, "We're all in this together from now on. Especially in times like this when we can hardly be certain of what is to happen, agreed?"

Leliana smiled broadly, "Agreed wholeheartedly," and she leaned over and embraced her little leader warmly. The rest of the group nodded their assent—even Sten who grunted in approval.

Karia continued before she could lose her nerve, "I know I'm not the only one that this Blight is taking its toll on. We're all paying a price for this—though they're not getting that much since we're broke—" she smiled a crooked grin at the attempted humor while her listeners chuckled, "And I want to be able to help you just as much as you all have helped me," She took a moment to look all of them in the eyes. Starting with Morrigan, she asked, "You've been here with us the longest, what is your opinion—where should we go from here?"

The witch couldn't have been more surprised, "What? _My_ opinion?" and when Karia nodded patiently, the woman wrinkled her brows in consternation, "How does that matter what I think?" trying to hide her uncertainty, she tipped her head at Alistair, "I'm sure _he_ doesn't want to hear it."

Karia frowned, first at Morrigan, and then at Alistair whose mouth was open and ready to retaliate, "I didn't ask his opinion on your opinion, Morrigan," she said pointedly, hushing the both of them, "I asked for, simply, _yours._"

_My opinion?_ It baffled Morrigan that the elf would still try to include her within the group, _What I say may be very well cast aside as fodder, _she thought bitterly, _and yet she genuinely seems to believe in this. Another aspect of caring. How curious._ There was silence for a moment before she spoke, "I am truly curious as to what haunts these elves," and when she saw Karia's thoughtful look, she grinned darkly, "Ah, so you've sensed it too."

The elf nodded, "Yes, though I can't be certain what would be causing it. I don't know the Dalish, but their behavior is…" and she couldn't quite describe it.

"It's anxious," Leliana finished, "They're suspicious of everything, as though something is about to pop out of the woods and gobble them up."

Bodahn frowned at the young woman, "You've been listening to too many of my children's stories." The Chantry sister giggled as he mumbled under his breath, "Reminds me a bit of the Curse of the Bull Lilies…" and when everyone rewarded this by giving him curious, disbelieving glances, he exclaimed, "Honest! On me Paragon's beard, it really happened. My aunt Petunia's day lilies were on the front shelf, you see, and…"

Just as he was beginning to recount his tale, the blond huntress returned, grim faced and curt, "Come. The Keeper will see you now," she stood erect and impatient as the weary party stood and brushed the twigs and dust off of their clothes. When everyone was ready, they continued farther into the camp.

The sights were breathtaking. Grafted into the towering trees were wooden aravels, structures that seemed to be a part of the tree itself. Intricate designs, what seemed to be runes, were carved onto the frames, and garish woodland colors decorated the exterior. What surprised Karia the most were the wheels hidden beneath thick, damask tapestries. _Wheels? They move?_

But that was not what stood out the most to the group. Sounds wafted on the breeze towards them, unnatural and strained. The further in they traveled, the more distinctly they could hear the groans and cries—of pain. They echoed among the stationary aravels like haunting ghosts. Karia shuddered to hear their piteous cries, feeling the pain as if it were her own. She glanced around her, past the fascinating mobile houses and into the far interior of the camp—the healing ward. It was gruesome, and she could not stand to look more than a few moments.

"Pitiful, is it not?" a male voice asked as the party came to a stop.

"Keeper," bowed the huntress, "This is the one who claims to be a Grey Warden. We thought she might have something that could help us."

"You have done well," the Keeper replied, speaking words to her in Dalish. The huntress bowed again before she rose and stepped into her place with the other hunters. It was then that the Keeper acknowledged them.

He tipped his head austerely, "Greetings, travelers. I assume, you, my lady, are the Grey Warden to which my hunters are referring," he inclined his head to Karia, "My name is Zathrian, and I am the Keeper of this Clan."

Giving an awkward curtsy, Karia responded, "I am pleased to meet you. We," she gestured towards her group, "have come a long way. My companion and I are survivors of the battle at Ostagar and are attempting to defeat the Blight."

"Tackling the entire Blight by yourself?" the Keeper seemed amused, "Interesting. Please forgive our lack of courtesy, for we do not easily trust strangers. There are not many humans that we are privileged to be able to trust."

"Of course," she agreed, "it is understandable."

Zathrian studied her for a moment, "But you are not human, are you?" he took a step closer, "My eyes may be failing me, but you greatly resemble one of our own, yet do not bear our markings. Grey Warden is your new name, but your blood tells a different story," the Keeper was pensive for a moment, "You may yet be of use to us…"

"Let me guess," Alistair cut in, sarcastically, "You've got problems of your own, don't you?" he sighed, "That's a new one…"

The Keeper glanced at him momentarily yet paid his comment no heed, "Will you help us?" was all he asked after turning his attention back to the small elf before him.

Karia narrowed her eyes and studied the man. He was fair, with long white hair and kind eyes. Yet, those eyes were full of the mystery and wisdom of one who has lived and seen much. Small wrinkles formed at the corners as evidence to the strain of many cares and responsibility; and frown lines and furrowed brows marked the features of his seriousness and age that lithe limbs and a fit body contradicted. He was the epitome of a village elder, and yet…she couldn't quite put her finger on what exactly bothered her about his manner… It was not as if she had much to judge from, but the natural skepticism of all things alien aroused a seed of suspicion within her that whispered that not all was what it seemed to be and that all due caution would have to be taken.

For a moment, she almost forgot to give an answer. Thinking so seriously on what his problem _could_ be distracted her for asking what it really was. Shaking her head slightly, she managed, "Before I agree, I would like to ask something in return."

"Of course," he nodded expectantly, "What is your request?"

Motioning to Alistair, she waited for him as he rummaged through a few different knapsacks. After a few moments, he returned bringing a dusty scroll with him. She took it gently from his hands and unrolled it, showing the ancient script to the Dalish keeper, "You label me correctly as Grey Warden. And our kin, as I have heard, have always experienced friendly relations," she began, "and years ago, the Dalish signed a pact with the Wardens that when another Blight threatened the elves would come to the aid of the Wardens to squelch this tide," she pointed out a paragraph and a signature on the paper, "There is indeed a Blight; and we need your help."

Zathrian read over the paragraph, but shook his head, "No. We have not enough manpower. I am sorry, but we cannot help you."

His answer gave Karia pause. It had been the last answer she was expecting to hear. It was a treaty—treaties were honored in most places. Why not for the Dalish? Her curiosity prodded her to ask this question of the Keeper.

"It's quite simple," he motioned for them to walk with him, "A great deal of my men are here," he led them to the healing ward, "Dying, wounded, and diseased…" Zathrian waved his hand in an encompassing gesture, "what is left o my army I have restricted to this camp. We are in danger on all sides, these days. If we wander too far from our forests, the _shem_ will hunt us. If we remain in them, another terror threatens and _this_ happens," and his face clouded, "Yet, if we remain…then the Blight will run over us like water spilling from a broken dam. And yet there is nothing we can do about it."

The new Grey Warden listened intently, trying not to wince at the sounds of the tortured elves around her. What Zathrian had explained had sobered her greatly. There really was no doubt about how dire the situation really was,

"What happened? Why are your people like this?"

The Keeper sighed, "It is a long story."

"I've got time."

He motioned for her to follow him and began explaining as they walked, "They have all been bitten by werewolves. The werewolves' poison is seeping into their bodies and slowly turning them into the very monsters they were trying to kill. Those that are strong enough to resist the change die shortly thereafter. We have no cure—only temporary relief, and we are running out of datura quickly. It began as a curse…" here he paused in deep contemplation, sorting out the historic details in his mind, "These werewolves were humans once. They were cursed because of their crimes and in vengeance they attacked an elfin settlement, killing many," he paused again, stopping to look directly into Karia's eyes, "I knew those elves…" and she could sense the bitterness enveloping his words, "And their poison continues to affect whomever they bite. They have been warring with us for years and still we do not have the strength to eradicate them. The source," Zathrian's voice rose in disgust, "is one we call Witherfang. The only way to end this curse is to destroy this monster. And, I might add, it may be the only possible way for our help in this Blight to be possible."

Karia narrowed her eyes trying to piece everything together. _So…these wolves were cursed? And their revenge was to attack this elfin settlement. Who, then, is Witherfang?_ Curious now, she inclined her head and asked, "Witherfang is the leader of these attacks, yes?"

Zathrian crossed his arms, "Witherfang is, indeed." He nodded affirmatively, "I am asking _you_ to seek this beast out and pierce its black heart. I realize that this may seem a monumental task, yet if the Grey Wardens are as resilient as legend claims, I am sure that this will prove no true difficulty…"

_He's trying to flatter me,_ Karia thought, trying to hide a disappointed frown, _The more he talks, the less he tells me, and the less inclined I am to help him… and yet,_ she sighed, _already too many are dying. Not to mention we need their help…_ Coming to a conclusion, she thought, _It's a simple little werewolf. No big deal, right?_ "We'll help you. But we'll need to rest and restock supplies. We've had a long journey."

"Of course," the Keeper acquiesced, "You are more than welcome to our wares. Our storekeeper," he motioned towards a small building, "you'll find has excellent stock, though we are not well-equipped for more than trade. I trust you'll find what you need. If you need anything else, we will be more than willing to oblige, my lady," he bowed, "But I must take my leave of you." With that, he turned and left the small party of people in the midst of the strange elfin camp.

Karia watched him go with renewed suspicion. She knew instinctively that the entire story was not being told, yet she could not put her finger on what was being left out. How could she tell a story that she did not know? And therefore, she tucked away her doubts and labeled them unfounded and paranoid. Meanwhile, she turned to her companions who were still gazing around the camp in silent admiration.

Putting his hands to his waist with a thoughtful look on his face, Alistair asked, "Look at these…these _things!_" he jerked his head at one of the wooden buildings, "They _move_! That's amazing! How do you suppose they fit through this forest? Or do you suppose the trees move aside forthem?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes at him, "Yes, the trees simply 'skitter' away as the big bad buildings come waltzing through," and she tilted her head saucily at the peeved glare he shot her.

"Probably what happened," he muttered, "is that they saw _you_ coming and ran away in disgust."

And, now, it was Morrigan's turn to glare, "Mayhap they smelled you first."

"What's worse than the smell of a swamp witch?" he asked, "And before you say 'sweaty man stink,' let me say that 'smelly cursed dog' completely trumps that."

She raised a brow, "And what about burnt cheese?"

Genuinely affronted, he crossed his arms defensively, "I have _never_ burnt cheese before in my life. And besides," he sneered, "_you're_ the one with the 'big bad' staff thing swinging about and sparking up the place," he picked up a stick and waved it about in exaggerated abandon as he yelled, "Fire!" in a maniacal falsetto and pointed the end of his pretend wand at her, "whoosh!"–ing and "whaah!"—ing the sound effects. Unable to stand any more, Morrigan snatched her staff and shoved it at his face, stopping the man in his tracks,

"One more word out of you and I'll 'whoosh' and 'whaah' you back to your precious Maker!"

Alistair didn't even flinch, "Hey, you started it!" and the two began arguing in earnest when a small cough beside them got their attention.

Karia had her arms crossed, one booted foot tapping, and a calculated, but incendiary expression on her face. She arched a brow at her two comrades, staring them down audaciously, and daring them to give her a reason not to react with consequences. It was a bluff. She was possibly the weakest member of the party and the shortest, at that; realistically, she wouldn't have been able to last very long if either of them turned on her. Still, her expression was enough to give them pause.

The Warden gulped and raised his hands innocently like, like a child that had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and was fumbling for an explanation, "Er…we were just…uh…"

Morrigan pointed, "This buffoon has the audacity to—"

"_Enough!_" The little elf shouted above their excuses, "We have enough to do without your squabbling," she shook her head and grabbed the stick out of Alistair's hand, tossing it away. Behind them, Borvo yipped and hastened after it, but Karia paid him no heed. Almost immediately, her tone switched from angry mother back to her normal melodic tone, "We'll be setting up camp on the outskirts. Bodahn's wagons are still there. Meanwhile," she jerked a thumb at the rest of the elfin village, "we have shopping to do. Morrigan, I need you to…"

Alistair was listening with half an ear, unable to focus on anything more than the amazement that such a tiny thing could have such a big voice. For a moment, he had been truly ashamed of himself. He still was, actually, at being caught "squabbling," as she had put it, with the irritating witch. What really surprised him was the fact that she had grabbed the stick right from out of his hands. He hadn't expected that. _How idiotic can I be today?_

"…be willing to set up camp? Alistair?"

He blinked, realizing suddenly that she was talking to him, "What? What did you say?" Morrigan snickered as she left them to do her own task.

Karia wanted to smile, but kept her face neutral at his surprise. She knew she had astonished him the most and it pleased her a little. It compensated for the fact that she could never be quite as strong or scary as he was anywhere else. Not that it particularly mattered—she would rather have him be the scary one, in any case. Something about being a lady—even an elfin one—made her a little reluctant to seem dominant. And yet, events had forced her to learn how to lead: one of her followers being Alistair. _He isn't as inept as he pretends to be, _she thought, _He's really smart and he knows more about this than I do. So why doesn't he want to lead?_

"I was wondering if you would be willing to set up the tents and start the fire?" _I'll teach him to lead, _she determined, _I'll make him want to._

Alistair, again, was surprised at the lack of irritation in her voice, though he wondered why she still didn't smile. The fact that she hadn't rebuked him further for what he rightly deserved further intrigued him, "Of course I would be," he answered, hesitating to leave, still curious if that was all she would say about the incident.

_He's actually quite handsome…for a human, _she found herself admitting, _and he's been so good to me. Not once have I had to worry where his loyalties lie. He's looked out for me from the beginning of this journey. Not that I've helped him any; I haven't been the best at staying out of trouble…_ She cocked her head slightly at his hesitation, _He thinks he's in trouble…it's cute._

"Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

The tall Warden was stunned. _I'm what?_! _Now that was completely unexpected! _And a slow, easy smile began to spread across his face, "Well…" he drawled, his humor returning, "Maybe once or twice from a few Chantry sisters, but I don't think they meant me all that well…" the boyish gleam in his eyes returned, "Why? Do _you_ think I'm handsome?"

_You don't know what you're getting yourself into…_ a voice inside warned her, but she ignored it as another voice in curiosity asked, _How far do you think this will go? _A roguish smile brightened the mischievous glimmer in her eyes, _I can't believe I'm admitting this_, "And If I do? What then?"

"Oh, not much," he returned in jest, "I just get to stand here and grin foolishly to myself for a little bit, that's all…" he laughed, then, and casually strolled away with that big, foolish grin spread broadly across his face.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Whew! Life has been a hectic mess, but altogether a pretty amazing one. For the first time ever, I was kicked out of church... yes, it happens to the best of us. Just kidding! Technically, it was my buskid's fault, so since they decided to laugh at the Preacher's tie (it was one of those skinny ties, and it was too short for his height...and girth!) the ushers kicked all of us out. It was actually kind of funny because the kid was just saying what everyone else in the auditorium was thinking, I'm sure. Which is why he was so touchy, I suppose. Sheeesh!  
_

_ Not much action occurs in this chapter; mainly, a whole lot of dialogue_. _I think I need to clarify something in chapter 14 (at least, I think it's chapter 14) about the dream of Lothering burning: as far as I know, there _is_ no dream in any version of the game. I was trying to be original; hopefully, it wasn't too overboard for everybody. Thanks to ChaosFortuna for the review last chapter! And again, thanks to all readers! You're the best! :) Enjoy chapter 16!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

_She thinks I'm handsome! _Thought Alistair triumphantly, _Maker's breath, I can't stop smiling! Why am I so happy?_ A darkspawn could have attacked him and he seriously doubted that the smile would have disappeared. His thoughts were full, yet he could hardly discern what each individual thought was. It was almost as if his head were empty, yet at the same time, nearly about to explode. _I'm an idiot…_ he admitted, _I don't make any sense…_ and yet, it didn't matter for the moment. What made it more special was the fact that Karia was not one given to vain compliments. She teased, to be sure, yet he had never heard her give a single empty compliment. She said what she meant and meant what she said. It was refreshing, really. Even so, he replayed the memory in his head just to be certain that he hadn't been daydreaming._ So…_ he dared to wonder, _does this mean she likes me? Or at least I know she doesn't think I'm a complete dupe, right?_ The thought made his heart thump just a little faster.

He was so consumed in these thoughts that he failed to see the wooden wagons peeking from behind the massive elm trees off to the side of the nearly invisible path. His shin struck the wheel and his natural momentum sent him toppling over into the dirt. Lying spread-eagle on his back and spluttering on the grassy ground, he fought to catch his breath. Eventually, when his vision stopped spinning, he groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. _Green…really green grass…_ his hazy thoughts began to register, _Hey…her eyes are green, too. A really deep, rich, beautiful green…_

He was still grinning when Leliana found him.

"Well, well…" she giggled, kneeling in the grass beside him, "Someone is in a very good mood, now, indeed."

Alistair raised himself gingerly to his knees and winced at the shot of pain in his legs, _That's going to leave a bruise…_ "I'm doing quite well, really," he confessed after a moment, and he laughed, "No, I'm doing marvelously!"

Leliana giggled again and tossed her flaming red hair behind her shoulders, "Apparently," her blue eyes glinted mischief as she replied, "I might bring it up again later, but right now, we need to work."

The two of them stood and began hefting the canvas and poles from within the rumpled interior of the wagons. Most of the supplies were unloaded before Alistair realized, "Hey, wait a minute," and he felt a slight sinking sensation, "Did she send you to help me?"

The rogue chuckled, "No. I'm supposed to be hunting for supper."

"Then, why…"

"Because," she sighed with a sweet smile, "my arrows got shoved behind these crates!"

The sinking feeling immediately departed. _Good, _he thought, _because…well, I guess it doesn't matter. But Karia asked me to do this and...and I really want to. Strange, isn't it?_ He smiled to himself, again, and just a little bit broader, _She thinks I'm handsome! Ha!_

Leliana observed this as she straightened her newly recovered quiver, "So, my knight friend, I couldn't help but notice, a while ago, your conversation with our fearless leader," she stopped to look at the man in the eyes, "and I was just curious…" and when Alistair fidgeted a little, she grinned, "No, don't be nervous, this isn't a background check—I was curious as to your relationship—how long you've known her."

The young man ran a hand through his tousled brown hair and sighed, "Not very long I'm afraid. We were both stationed at Ostagar—she, a new recruit—when it was attacked. And it's been a very short time since then to bring us here."

"She keeps to herself, doesn't she? I believe she has spoken more today than she has in a while," Leliana acknowledged.

_Only too true…_ "Yes, I believe so."

Musing on the subject further piqued Alistair's curiosity about his elfin companion. What they had gone through had not given them much time to develop much of a friendship; not to mention, he was slightly fearful to pursue something further due to his own insecurities. A man's past could never be erased, whether or not he had anything to do with the shaping of it.

_Speaking of which…I'll have to tell her that eventually…_

One of the most dreaded topics that he ever wished to discus was probably that of his heritage. He had been given no choice in it, he knew, yet it was something he was frightened of, perhaps even a little bitter about, as well. Perhaps the most terrifying fact was that he had absolutely no control over it. Two people's mistakes had essentially molded his entire life—and what he had known had not always been a good one: raised by Arl Eamon, then given to the Chantry and its abominable rules, handed to the Templars to train as a mage hunter—he felt as though no one _wanted _ him, or _needed_ him. He had been passed from one section to another for as long as he could remember. It wasn't until Duncan had recruited him that he had found a _home_, as motley as it had been. Still, he had been able to learn from those experiences. They had made him the man that he was. _As ludicrous as the end result is…_ he chuckled to himself. _But why did my parents have to be those two people?_

Adultery, though widely frowned upon, was commonplace in a dark world where sins could easily be hidden. He was sure, though, that the Maker was shaking his eternal finger at the peoples of Thedas. Even with his aversion to Chantry rules and standards, morality and dignity and mere _decency_ had been instilled in him from his birth, having lived with nobility for the short time that he had. And while an ample amount of children were conceived illegitimately, they lived relatively normal lives: except for Alistair. His parents, of all parents, were the exception to that "normal, happy" standard. Alistair's whole existence had revolved around secrecy and conspiracy, trying to keep his unplanned birth from jeopardizing Prince Cailan from taking the throne.

The entire ordeal was kept secret in order to protect Alistair's father, King Maric.

_Perhaps I'd better leave that alone for now…we're off to a good start without this complication. No one needs to know. Not yet, at least…_ he thought, trying to shake off the anxious knot in his stomach. _None of them will ever look at me the same when they know…No. It's best we avoided Arl Eamon,_ he gulped down the admission, _It will be nice knowing if…if she could be my friend for me as I am…and not my birth._

The foe with which he had struggled all of his life reared its ugly head and glared at him in the eyes, but, as every time before, he shrugged away the monster and confined it to the back of his mind while it roared and grappled with his doubts and his excuses, fighting for a head. The Warden, however, was determined this night to ignore the nagging beast.

Setting up camp proved to be a quick job and within a few minutes he had the scattered tents erected and a central fire blazing. By that time, Leliana had returned with several small animals for their consumption. The already dreary day gradually became darker and more morose as the balanced sounds of activity dulled and faded behind the growing sounds of the forest. Shadows danced in eerie patterns around the glowing fire, enrapturing the young man's attention. Behind him, sounds of Leliana's efforts to start dinner had begun; she was humming happily to herself when he interrupted her,

"Would you like some help?"

She smiled at him, "No, thank you. This is an art I have mastered. Besides, you carried a good deal of firewood back and forth and I am sure you are tired from everything that happened this morning."

He was _extremely _tired, actually; and staring at the burning flames before him, he was suddenly reminded of the unfortunate city they had left behind them in smoldering ashes. The screams echoed in his mind as scattered memories replayed bits and pieces before his eyes. Shaking his head sadly, he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and grabbed a long stick to stoke the fire with another. After a few moments, he turned back to Leliana,

"So," he began slowly, trying to collect his thoughts, "what do you think will happen to all those people we left behind in Lothering?"

The woman set her tools down and stopped fussing with the rabbits. Contemplative silence ensued as the Chantry sister regarded his question. Alistair watched the struggle in her bright blue eyes as she shook her head, "Some of them will find their way to Denerim…others…" she shrugged helplessly, "…others will die. _Many_ will die. All will be as the Maker wills."

He nodded, acknowledging this. Death was becoming too common of a word for his taste, "Do you wish you could have stayed?" he asked, then added, "To help more people?"

There was deep resolution in her eyes as she responded, "If the Blight isn't stopped, everyone will die. This is the greater good we're serving, both of us. Right here," Her eyes met his from across the clearing and he saw that the determination in her heart matched the tone of her voice. The woman was courageous, indeed. But still…he felt the frustration within him begin to build; the feeling of failure, believing that he had somehow let those countless villagers down, needed to be vented.

"So it's all right to let some people die for the greater good? I... I'm not so sure about that. I felt bad leaving all those people there, all panicked and helpless," he raised his hands in a helpless gesture, "They were trapped in there…I feel as though we should have done more…"

"You're doing what you must, Alistair," she reminded him gently, "There will be worse situations to face in the upcoming weeks. You will have to steel yourself, my friend. You know this."

He frowned at her wisdom, wondering how such a giddy woman could hold such depth. And yet, it suited her—as though she used her gaiety as a mask. It was a mask he understood well; as he employed this power quite often when trying to avoid a question. Knowing this, he sighed in resignation, copping off with a mildly teasing excuse for his confusion, "I've never been very good at that—the steeling myself part. I find it better sometimes to just be a little weak. I'm all right with that, really."

Her raised brow indicated humor, but her voice was sincere, "I don't believe you," and she smiled at him encouragingly. The smile was infectious and he grinned back, but the light moment passed as she quickly reminded him, "It is not as if either of us really has a choice. Just as we cannot hide from who we are, we cannot hide from the Blight. It is coming whether we are willing to accept it or not. And because of that, we must find a side on which to stand and not waver. Once you have decided, the easier it becomes," and once said, she returned to her work, running off into the Dalish settlement with a large pail in hand to fetch water, leaving Alistair to his own thoughts.

_You can't hide from who you are…_ a voice reminded him, harassing his conscience. _You can hide behind the standards of the Grey Wardens, but fate will find you. Blood will tell who you are. You can become many things and deny many things—disown your Order, disown Ferelden, disown Thedas—but your blood is a part of who you are; your heritage cannot be erased…_

Alistair groaned and covered his face with his hands, "I've waited too long. I can't tell her now," he mumbled into his palms. "What do I do?" he sighed, his hands still stifling his words. Waiting for an answer was futile—this he knew, and wasn't surprised when no answer came. Answers never came. Wearily, he sighed again and lifted his head from his hands, and then immediately had to catch his breath because of what next he saw.

Karia materialized by the firelight garbed in Dalish apparel: a forest green flared tunic that narrowed and accentuated her waist with three-quarter length sleeves flaring out at the ends was what she exchanged for the ratty cotton shirt she had previously worn; the neck of the tunic dipped into a shallow V with embroidery flowing along the edges and spinning down in various patterns down the length of the rest of the shirt; replacing her tattered leggings was a new dark brown pair of pants, more durable and comfortable than an average pair she would have found in the alienage; and the old traveling boots she had worn were replaced by the more resilient and flattering Dalish boots, fashioned from a halla's hide. This ensemble of clothing certainly was alien when worn on the Dalish elves that Alistair had observed; but worn by the beautiful city elf, they were amazing.

_She_ was amazing.

In her arms, she had carried her new suit of leather armor while slung around her shoulders was a replenished backpack of goods. Her smile was broad when she announced,

"Look at this deal! I was able to convince the shopkeeper to trade all of our old items for these new ones!" she motioned to someone in the darkness and Sten stepped forward, his arms laden and spilling over with the various merchandise. Gruffly, he plopped them onto the ground and the city elf eagerly rummaged through the new stock, "I wasn't able to get everyone's armor—you and Morrigan will have to return tomorrow morning and decide what will work best for you, though you prefer metal—which they don't have—but for the most part, we should be more than ready to find this abominable _Witherfang…_" she lifted excited eyes to his and flashed the other Warden a small smile, "Then we can go to the Arl. I promise."

Alistair returned an absentminded smile at her earnestness, but couldn't stop the despondent coldness growing in the pit of his stomach. _If the Arl weren't so ill then I'd almost wish we didn't have to go…_ he frowned and turned his attention back to watching the fire, lost in thought.

Watching him from across the fire, Karia sensed his discomfort and felt that she had somehow caused this displeasure. Swallowing down her childish excitement, she sighed, _I shouldn't open up like that. That was…too much and very immature to ramble on about. Perhaps he thinks I'm an annoying, chatty woman._ Disappointment replaced her excitement and she felt the motivation to sort through the new assortment of weapons and armor begin to fade. Gingerly, she crossed her legs and shuttered the emotion she felt with a few blinks of her eyes. _And here I was thinking that perhaps he and I were getting along all right. But why would he ever wish to know me? I'm just…_ bitterness tinged her thoughts _…a poor city elf. Even the Dalish have a place—hidden from the humans. Elves are not wanted anywhere, it seems._ She raised her eyes to the sky and felt her heart sink further at the canopy of leaves, _It's a cage—the Dalish live in a cage of fear, here, in their trees. Where is the sky?_ Eventually, Karia stopped looking. There was not a break to be found anywhere in the tangled boughs.

Sten, meanwhile, was still standing in his own contemplation. He had accompanied the Warden on her excursion and had been able to glean a great deal of insight as to the thoughts of his new leader…

_~ …The Dalish marketplace was strangely serene as compared to others he had seen. Small children gaily skipped in the verdant pathways, yet remained mannered and kept mostly to themselves. He snorted at their insignificant way of life, for their houses, he deemed, would hardy have withstood any sort of brute force. The area was too dense; the people too fragile—they were a worthless lot of flesh that was too cowardly to face the real world. And yet, his own leader was of their kin. Perhaps from a different area, but still was she an elf. Elves knew nothing but poverty; or at least, this is what he had seen. Yet somehow, she had managed to free him from his confinement and survive the scene at Ostagar. So she said. The qunari warrior still harbored many doubts as to the verity of the facts she had given him. The lives of the people of Ferelden were so vastly different from the life he had lived among the Qun. It was this fact that caused the confusion and irritation he felt at her role as a fighter and a leader. Eventually, he verbally posed the source of his conundrum, "You are a woman."_

_Big green eyes stared up at him in surprise, "Why, yes, I am," then Karia frowned, "Please tell me you're not just noticing this, Sten."_

"_No," he declared adamantly, "I mean, you are a woman. Women tend to children, to houses, to herbs and gardens—not to war and politics. That is the role of a man."_

"_That is not entirely true," she gently contradicted him, "Some women fight."_

_His dark brows furrowed, "That is a man's place. Are you all so discontented in being a woman? Do all such women wish to be men?"_

_Karia paused to think, trying to understand his point of view, before she spoke again, "No, it's not that we wish to be men. It's just that some women choose to fight."_

_She could see him struggling to grasp this concept just as she struggled herself to understand his own views. His lips curled into a thin line as he pondered her words. Finally, he shook his head again, "No, that cannot be. That is a man's place—it is not for women. Those lines cannot be crossed. It is as it has always been and always should be."_

_Now Karia was genuinely confused, "People may choose to be what they wish to be. People here have the ability to become what they will, whether it be a man who pursues farming, or a woman who is able to fight. They choose to live how they please. Do your people not choose?"_

_This was a new concept, and a hard one to grasp. For a Qun, there was one life: a woman was the harvester, the man was the hunter. These things were unchangeable, "That is not so. Things are what they are."_

"_Do you not ever wish to be something else?"_

"_No," he denied again, "It is not my place. To desire to be what you are not reveals a great discontentment in your people. My people are content to be as they are."_

"_So nothing changes?" she tilted her head to the side, "Ever?"_

"_We do not have our farmers becoming merchants, or our wives becoming warriors—no."_

_Karia nodded, "Interesting. However, our becoming something else is not an indication of discontentment, but of progress—advancement. We do this for the betterment of, not only ourselves, but of others. The farmer has spent much time in the field and understands the hardships that one can face. He therefore aspires to become a merchant who is sympathetic to the farmers and strives to work with them rather than for his own simple gain. The farmers gain because they have someone who understands their plight and can help them develop, while the merchant gains good business because of his sympathy and ethics. Some change is for the better."_

_The big warrior narrowed his eyes in intense consideration for what she had said. He felt as if he could almost understand her—the breaking point was close—but still far from his reach. It was almost as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue—he knew it—and yet he could not speak it. The feeling was frustrating and almost alarming. But rather than debate her further, he grumbled, "That is not the point. The point is that you are a woman. And yet you say you are a warrior. One of these things cannot be true. Either you are a woman, or you are a warrior. You cannot be both."_

_Testily, she raised a brow at him, "I am a woman."_

_The big man nodded, feeling as though he had settled the dispute. But she wasn't finished—_

"And_…" she stepped closer to him in challenge, "I am also a warrior. I _can_ be both," she assured him in a low, confident tone._

_The big man released a growl as they continued on their way, "That has yet to be seen…" ~_

Truth be known, Sten admired the little elf's courage. Not many people were willing to argue with a qunari warrior—especially when the giant stood nearly twice the elf's height. What surprised him more was her easy-going manner that quickly drew him back into her confidence once the discussion ended. She had made him feel a part of her adventure—recounting small facts, bits and pieces of knowledge she had gleaned from Duncan, and her general questions and comments about anything and everything. In fact, they had spent a good while at the halla pen where the city elf sat for a solid thirty minutes asking about the history and the physical attributes of the deer-like stallions prancing grandly within their lush enclosure…

_~ …"So, tell me, how big do they get?"_

_The pen keeper smiled at the inquisitive elf, "The tallest I've seen has stood seven feet tall. Legend says they grow larger."_

"_And they can move these…these…" Karia motioned at the wooden buildings, not sure what the correct word was to use._

"_Aravels. Yes, they are stronger than the average human horse or goat." The old elf stroked the muzzle of a nearby halla, its large white head leaning lazily over the small fence. The great creature bleated in pleasure at the gentle touch. The muscular body rippled when it stomped its massive hooves, and a lion's tail swatted the pesky bugs surrounding it. The most impressive feature of the animal crowned its magnificent head—a startlingly massive set of antlers that twisted intricately and narrowed from a thick base to dangerously sharp points. Karia pulled Sten close to the pen,_

"_After Duncan recruited me, while we were traveling, I saw a young halla. I had no idea they became this big…" ~_

The big man eased himself onto the grass, staring into the fire, yet remaining watchful of what lingered within the impenetrable depths of the woods. He had a natural distrust for all of Ferelden. So strange was this country! So different were its people. Safety was a feeling he had not felt in so long he had almost forgotten how it truly felt. It was a bit unnerving—a warrior feeling so out of place…

"So…" drawled Alistair after a long moment of silence, "Sten, don't you ever talk? You know, make polite conversation just to put people at ease? Eh?"

Irritated, the qunari's head snapped around to look at the knight. Before he answered, he let his annoyance drain and remarked sarcastically back, "Do you mean I should remark upon the weather before I cut off a man's head? Is this the pleasantry of which you speak?"

Alistair's eyes flew open in surprise and some slight confusion. _Is he being serious? I can't tell…he wouldn't really do that…would he? _ He glanced at Karia for reassurance and allowed himself to feel more at ease when he saw her slight smile at the comment. _Well…if she isn't worried about it then I guess it's safe, right? He wouldn't really…_

And then the knight remembered the reason why Sten had been locked within the cage and a surge of jealousy and anger began to smolder within him,

_He probably would…and yet she puts so much faith in him? Why does she trust him so much? How on earth can I ever get her to trust me like that—to open up?_

Again, Karia saw his frown and sighed, trying not to let his disapproval color her mood. Yet, it already had. She wanted to speak to Alistair, to talk to him; and yet, feeling so insecure wondering about his own opinion of her corked all of her feeble attempts. Eventually, the silence became too much for the Templar and he stood to collect more firewood, leaving the woman and the warrior alone.

More silence followed until Karia turned smiling eyes back to the sullen giant, "Sten, I have a question for you."

He glared at her from where he sat and growled, "Speak," in his deepest, most menacing tone.

It had the opposite effect of what he had anticipated—the little elf smiled _wider_ and actually _giggled_, "Do you find Ferelden very strange?"

The big man stared down at her in some confusion. _Why does she care? What is that to her?_ After a while, he grumbled, "Yes. It is very strange."

Karia nodded, "Our cultures are very different?"

"Yes."

_Well,_ she thought dryly, _at least he isn't saying 'no' anymore. _"Do you not like Ferelden?"

Shaking his head, he answered, "I am…unused," he admitted, "to this climate. It is colder here than my country. The people live differently—they scatter and seem to be doing each the other's job," he paused to give her a pointed look, "and…" he shook his head solemnly, "it smells…"

Raising a brow, she asked, "It smells?"

"Your country," he rumbled, "has a very distasteful aroma. It is unpleasant and reeks of dirt and decay."

Karia smiled at his complaint, "You forgot to mention wet dog."

The frown on his face was genuine, "Ah, yes, I was trying to forget that part…"

The elf laughed, picking up on his subtle sarcasm, and for a moment, the giant man allowed his rigidity to loosen. The tight-lipped expression he had worn the entire day mellowed into a neutral appearance that Karia delighted in as progress. After she had her laugh, she smiled up at him,

"There must be something about Ferelden that you like."

The giant nodded his dark head once, "Indeed," and when she tilted her head quizzically, he sighed, "You have these…sugary confections. There is not a word for them in my tongue; they are sweet and crumbly…"

Her eyes opened wide in surprise, "Cookies?"

"Ah, yes," he agreed, "That must be it. We do not have these…cookies…amongst my people," he nodded his head once more in determination, "This must be remedied."

Karia smiled again, fully, "I will _definitely_ look into solving that."

"Good," was his contented reply, and once again they both fell into silence just as Alistair came striding back into camp, arms laden with firewood. He heaped the scraps a few feet from the fire, choosing an especially long one for the task of stirring the dying embers at the bottom. Glancing at his two companions who were sitting in comfortable calm, he had to swallow his jealousy at having missed out on their conversation. He had heard them as he wandered the outskirts of their small camp, yet couldn't quite discern the words. Making it back in time, as much as he had desired to, just could not feasibly be accomplished due to the increasing darkness. He had spent most of the time stumbling in the darkness, letting his bruised leg find the loose sticks. As it were, the conversation had not been very long; though to the young man who had not been a part of it, it seemed longer. He was thankful that Leliana approached then, full pail of water in hand,

"The water is so clean, here," she said with a bright smile, her Orlesian accent thick and rich. "And some of the children are so sweet," she showed the group her wrist, decorated in a bracelet of flowers and curling green tendrils, and exclaimed, "Look at what they gave me!"

Karia sidled over to observe, "Those are beautiful," she brushed her thumb gently across the smooth white petals of the strange flower, "What are they?"

Shrugging, Leliana answered, "I don't remember. The name sounds elfish, and I had actually hoped that you could tell me," she giggled, "But I guess not."

The city elf squinted as she inspected the flower more closely, "We didn't have many flowers in the alienage. I wouldn't be able to tell you very many names." After a moment, she released Leliana's hand, "Can I help you with dinner?"

"Of course!" was the response, but it was the excitement in the voice that convinced Karia she was welcome. Alistair heard the inflection, too, and whined,

"Hey!" he crossed his arms, "You told _me_ I couldn't help."

Leliana's face scrunched up in distaste, "Well…it isn't as though I do not appreciate your offer; it's just…just…" she struggled for a kind way to explain herself out of the predicament, "I've heard some…_incredible _stories about your cooking…" she fidgeted with the brace of conies she had recently skinned, "And I wasn't sure if it would be wise to distract you from setting up camp…"

The knight frowned in mock displeasure, though he did justify, "It was _one_ meal!"

"That was all it took," reminded Karia, smiling archly, "for, as I recall, the entire meal was ruined."

He sniffed disdainfully, "Accidents happen," to which the pretty elf simply raised a brow and proceeded to cut up the conies into small bits, throwing the pieces into the pot that Leliana had set over the blazing fire. Karia suffered a moment of silent nervousness. Glancing over at the Chantry sister, she could not quite decide how to approach the woman—to get to know her—until Leliana, her usual bubbly self, opened up about shoes. Karia was apprehensive for only a brief time longer before eventually, the women began chatting easily beside the fire, laughing with each other and sharing idle stories. Alistair listened to their melodic voices with half an ear. The warmth of the glowing coals was comforting and safe; slowly, he began to drift to sleep. Minutes passed and he sensed, rather than saw, Sten stand to take his lonely vigil for the evening on a nearby hillock. And as he faded in and out of consciousness, he could hear snippets of the women's conversations—Karia asking Leliana about her mysterious past being the primary topic. After a small hesitation, the Chantry sister began to speak, recounting small facts about her childhood and the previous occupation that she had once been as an Orlesian.

"I was a bard," she said with a tinge of regret in her tone, "I used to sing for the highest courts in Orlais. I had some of the most beautiful clothes and shoes…" she began to regale the elf with stories of the court, "The fashion statement there at one time had been to arrange your hair tall and big," she emphasized her descriptions with her hands, pretending to pile her short hair atop her head as the Orlesian women, "and one particular countess had decided to outdo every style." The glint in the bard's eye was nothing short of roguish, "She pinned her hair up, up, up!" she again waved her arms and described, "leaving small pockets in which they placed live doves," her smile grew wider, "It was beautiful. Except—" she wagged a finger at the elf, "she had forgotten what happens to scared little birdies who have just eaten," and her laugh rang out as she explained, "Her hair was not only layered in styling gel but dove refuse as well. It was awful!"

The little elf laughed. It had been a ridiculous tale, and the ladies laughed so tremendously hard at the woman's plight that they were gasping for breath by the time Leliana finished. Karia, still smiling, stood to stir the stew in the pot, and a few more moments of quiet followed. She glanced back at the beautiful bard and saw a wave of sadness shadow her bright features and in a low, gentle voice asked,

"You miss Orlais?"

Leliana nodded, "Very much so…"

The elf nodded and crossed to sit with her new friend, "What made you come to Ferelden?"

Sorrowful blue eyes sought her green ones and Karia almost felt the depth of pain emanating from the Orlesian woman. She began to speak when suddenly none other than Morrigan came stomping into the clearing with a mabari, a young dwarf, and his father, all in tow.

The witch gracefully eased herself with catlike reflexes onto the lush ground, her big eyes narrowed and she said in low tones, "These woods are more dangerous than anticipated."

Karia cast Leliana an apology glance, but the bard had moved to season the soup with Bodahn's spices. Taking a deep breath, she acknowledged Morrigan's report, "What do you mean? What's out there?"

"A great many things," the woman purred, "of which you'll be pleased to know were many useful herbs," she opened her leather sack, "that I can use for health poultices."

Bodahn plopped unceremoniously on the ground and Sandal and the mabari tumbled onto the ground alongside him. They had been out with Morrigan for the day—Bodahn for his own reasons, and Sandal to "help" the witch in her search for anything useful. From the looks of it, all of them were more than weary for all the walking. But, if she could judge by the condescending tilt of Morrigan's head and the fatigue of the dwarves, _something_, at least, had been accomplished. Borvo, licking Sandal on the hand one more time, dragged his bulky body close to his master and plopped at her feet, either unable or unwilling to move any more. Karia chuckled, unable to hide the delight she found at seeing the boy and the beast getting along so well, but Morrigan's discovery had intrigued her, "What else found you?"

The witch did not answer immediately, choosing instead to sort through her various plants. Dark eyes searched the shadows around her and she lifted an eyebrow in languorous challenge. "Danger," was the cryptic answer.

"And dungeons, and dragons," the irritable Bodahn sarcastically grumbled, "You've been speaking all day in these dratted riddles!" he chided the woman from the Wilds, "And drum-dang it all, dice the darn discussions on this Blight-duped darkness!" he crossed his arms, and continued to grouch, "The next '_D_' word you say had better be _dinner!_"

The group exchanged dumbfounded glances, for any debate after that had definitely been discarded.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: There are officially 12 days left before school ends for me and my freshman year of college is finally complete! THANK GOODNESS! :) It will be so nice, for a change, not to be labeled as the "dumb freshman," simply because of my year. It is so exciting! And then begins summer... muahahahaha! My evil plans have only just begun... In any case! I am going to warn you ahead of time that my posting may be sporadic and considerably shortened due to the fact that I will be traveling this summer with the college on a tour group-recruiting and singing. However, I will make it a point to post-there WILL be posts, I just cannot definitely give you a time frame. If you will be patient with me, though, you will still be able to follow Karia's story. That is, if you still want to. Love you guys! Thanks to all who reviewed and added! Have a great week!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Gray mists crept across the hushed forest ground on stealthy paws. They yawned and stretched languidly over the sleeping Dalish camp, spreading in thick layers about the elfin tents. Before anyone could react, the peaceful invasion was complete and the fog had completely overtaken them. Splatters of precipitation followed, made colder by a biting north wind that howled and whistled viciously through the sturdy woods. All at once, the serene mists were transformed into a predatory miasma, mercilessly attacking the inactive camp with its relentless fury. Gusts ripped into the Wardens' tents and flipped the heavy canvas flaps open, waking the victims within and scattering their loose belongings. A startled Karia scurried out of her bedroll and leaped at the billowing flaps, trying to gather the flailing strings to tie the opening shut. Several times, the strips were blown out of her hand, and Leliana had to help force the folds together while Karia struggled making the knots secure. Eventually, Karia managed to force the strings to cooperate.

The two women huddled underneath their blankets for a few extra moments, trying to stave off the stinging frosty air still swirling around their small shelter and squeezing in through the unseen cracks. Karia shivered and reached for her clothes and armor, dreading having to leave the comfort of her tent and face the wild weather and fearsome forest. Hastily, she pulled on her new elfin garments and strapped on the Dalish leather armor, similar in form to what the blond guard had worn when the group had been stopped the previous day. She had ensured, though, that a placard was attached to the breastplate and that it was a full piece. In her line of duty, she could not afford to wear scanty armor, knowing that any weakness could be a death sentence.

When both women were fully dressed, they carefully unwound the tight straps and faced the frigid air awaiting them. Karia's soft auburn hair was immediately tousled and sent swirling around her pale face. She tied it back securely with a black velvet band, and then set about to help pack the supplies before they were soaked, frozen, or blown away. Alistair, who had already been awake, stopped her while she was trying to fight with the tent,

"Let me get that," he insisted above the wind, "Go eat something. Bodahn has breakfast inside the front wagon," and he pointed to where the old dwarf and his boy Sandal were stowing the tents and bedrolls that had been neatly folded and stacked. Alistair had been busy. She stared up at the man, still quite a bit groggy, and tried to protest,

"That's all right; I can get this—" but he wasn't listening, or at least, he pretended not to. He continued on with his task, and grinned to himself when the pretty elf beside him graced him with a smile and a slightly embarrassed, "Thank you," before she turned and scurried to the shelter of Bodahn's wagon. She was greeted with the warm, welcoming smell of chicken soup and sausage—not entirely the most traditional breakfast—but definitely better than any breakfast she had eaten in several days. Not to mention, besides the fact that the weather had turned against them, she was safe for the time being.

Safety was a term that she was coming to value as it grew scarcer and scarcer. She had assumed they'd be safe in Lothering until it had suddenly been overtaken. A sharp pang of sadness clutched at her heart and she had to work to swallow the bite of sausage she had been chewing. Though she knew she had done all she could have, she still felt sorrow for those she knew had not been able to get away. Ultimately, she did not regret her decision. She and Alistair had been able to buy the villagers some time, and that is what truly mattered. Even though they could not have possibly stemmed the flow of darkspawn, it was enough knowing that they did their part and even a _few_ more were saved that would otherwise have simply died had they not made a stand. Time could not be rewound; events could not be replayed; it would be pointless to regret decisions—after made and carried through, they were history; and life simply had to move forward from there. Regrets were useless. The results may be damaging, and the pain could be intense, but the only way one could go was forward. One might as well simply work through the doubts rather than allow the doubts to chain them. Karia found this area one that was easy to logic through, yet more difficult to practice, though she worked on it constantly. Snap decisions would be made regularly, people would be affected positively and negatively, and she had to learn not to buckle under the pressure once a path had been taken.

Karia swallowed the last bit of sausage, eager to finish the Keeper's task and receive the necessary support from the reclusive elves. Glancing outside the shelter of the wagon, she frowned in disappointment because of the sudden storm. It was already dangerous knowing visibility was down, but with the added inconvenience of the storm, she wondered if it would simply just be better to wait. The Brecilian Forest was a strange territory for all of them and having to face these conditions made it even more dangerous than it had been before. However, she knew that the longer they postponed this journey, the more elves would die. She also realized that Arl Eamon was ill, and every day they delayed only increased the chances that his condition would worsen. Every moment they wasted only decreased their chances of ever defeating the Blight. Choosing between two evils, it seemed, would be the hardest part of her morning. If she waited, two allies would be lost concerning those on the treaty; yet, if she ventured out, other allies could possibly be lost of her group. Either option was a risk she was unwilling to take.

Without warning, Leliana and Borvo leaped into the back of the wagon with her, both shivering and with the bard wrapped up in her bedroll, "The wind is dying down a bit but the rain has gotten worse. I can't believe how strong both are, though, especially with all these trees!" she shook her hair out of her face, "We should leave soon if we are going to do this."

Karia glanced at her critically, "You would risk this weather, then?"

The bard shrugged, "Why not? If we leave now, all the monsters will most likely be in shelter. If we wait, they'll be out sloshing in the mud with us."

_Well, that makes sense. Doesn't mean that the monsters won't be brave and face the sleet with us…_ Karia chewed on her lip in deep thought, "Is everyone else still packing up?"

"The men are in the other wagon drinking coffee; Morrigan is making potions; Sten is trying out that new sword you got him; and the dog," she scratched Borvo behind the ears, "well, I guess we're all accounted for." The Chantry sister giggled when the giant mabari thudded his hind leg when she hit an especially sensitive spot on his neck.

Karia nodded, "Then, yes, we're going," she gently set the plate aside with a few other dirty dishes, "Let's get everyone else ready."

The two women hopped out of the wagon and scurried to the other one, hiding underneath Leliana's bedroll. Karia called out for Morrigan and Sten to join them inside, and everyone clambered underneath the shelter where Alistair, Bodahn, and Sandal were comfortably sitting. It was a tight fit, even with Sten standing out in the rain with Morrigan extending her magic shield to cover him as well. When everyone was seated and paying attention, Karia announced,

"I realize that today's weather is…" she fumbled for the right word, "dreadful. And I realize how much more difficult it is having to search a forest that we are all unfamiliar with. However, we are going out for Witherfang _today._"

"What?" the wagon was a tumult of clamor, and Morrigan's screech echoed, "You would rather jeopardize our lives for this little wolf than wait another day?"

Karia felt the pang of indecision as debate from her little group ensued: "Might as well get it over with," said one, "This is completely idiotic," said another; and the little elf was unsure as to who said what. Eventually, after a few minutes, she grabbed the coffee pot and banged on it with a spoon, trying to get their attention. They piped down for only a moment before the discussions began again, and eventually, Karia gave up. She crossed her arms and leaned against one of the crates, listening with only half an ear to what was taking place around her. However, she was more than willing to allow them to do whatever they wished, by this time. She had not supposed that her decision would cause such a stir. _Will one day really affect Ferelden that badly? Now what do I do?_

"_Enough!_" a booming, giant voice echoed into the tent as Sten leaned inside, a fierce glare on his face, "Your childish bickering is doing nothing but pollute the air," his growl halted even Morrigan in mid-sentence. After a moment when everyone was silent and staring directly at him, he rumbled, "Let the elf speak. You have made her leader. So allow her to lead." When he had spoken his piece, he crossed his arms again, and waited in stony silence. Karia could barely believe what she had heard. She was still in shock when all the eyes of her party turned and looked at her once more.

She worked her mouth for a moment, trying to find words, but they would not come. _Ridiculous. Just say what you're thinking,_ her mind chided her, and she took a deep breath, "If we don't go today, and wait till tomorrow, Leliana brought up a good point: at this time, most of the dangerous animals may be seeking shelter. Tomorrow, when it is nicer for us, it will be nicer for them as well. We'll have more problems to deal with then. Also," she took another breath to steady herself, "Waiting is wasting precious time. Arl Eamon, our next ally, is ill. One more day spent waiting is another day that he may not have. One more day is another day these diseased elves definitely do not have. The sooner we begin, the closer we come to finding a cure for both parties, and the better chances we have of gaining the alliances the old Grey Warden treaties promised," deeply, she hoped that her voice did not sound as nervous as she felt, "You all are free to come and go as you wish. I can't make you do anything. I don't want to," she shook her head, "Regardless, that is where I stand. I'm seeking Witherfang today."

There was silence as they contemplated her words. Leliana piped up first, "I'm going, as well." Sten gave his own grunt of approval, to which Karia nodded her thanks. He pretended not to notice. Alistair nodded, "Of course I'll go," and all eyes turned, then, to Morrigan, who glared at them all severely.

"What is this, then?" she tipped her nose disdainfully, "I am free to choose as I wish, yes?"

Karia ignored the woman and hopped out into the rain, "As soon as everyone is ready, we'll go," and she left it at that.

Morrigan was furious. Everyone else piled out, leaving her with the insufferable Bodahn and his son. The old dwarf sipped his coffee contentedly, as though nothing had happened, and Sandal possibly hadn't even understood anything that had just taken place. The witch got her wish—she didn't have to go. And yet, at the same time, she had expected more of a fight from Karia about it. That the elf simply didn't care whether she accompanied them or not stung more than just Morrigan's pride. _They need me, do they not? Of them all, I alone am able to cast magic, healing spells that they will need so very desperately when this bloody rain has them wearied and ill._ She smirked, _They'll come crawling back to me, begging me for my healing poultices—no! They wouldn't dare leave without me,_ of this she was certain, _they wouldn't._

Karia smiled to herself, remembering what Sten had said, finding it ironic that after the previous day's conversation he would be able to defend her and promote her leadership—the very leadership that he had disagreed with before. That he still had character enough to respect her position whether or not he agreed with it gave her more confidence as to her own situation.

The wind began to die down, but only slightly. Inversely, the rain turned into sleet—a thick, hard mixture of rain and ice thudding onto the soaked ground. Karia shivered as she sheathed her steel sword and slung a short bow and quiver over her shoulder. Already, her armor was soaked and beginning to feel weighty. She shifted uncomfortably and adjusted a few straps, trying to reduce the risk of having it chafe, but it was a fruitless task. Eventually frustrated, she gave up and left it alone. Green eyes glanced about her, mentally mapping as much as she could whilst intermittently blinking the sleet from her vision: everyone was armed and ready, waiting for her to give the signal. She nodded once and began to walk into the forest as, behind her, the rest of the group followed. At least, everyone but Morrigan.

It was all Karia could do to keep from looking back. _No…_ she reminded herself. _This is what the witch chose. I will respect that decision; I will _not_ beg._ The elf did not look back—did not hesitate. There was no point. If she were trying to prove a point, then Karia would allow the woman to prove her point; and, while she was at it, the elf would prove her _own_ point. There would be no room within the party for those unwilling to act for the betterment of the group. If lives were that meaningless to the witch, then meaningless they'd allow her life to be. It was that simple.

Morrigan watched them from the safety of the wagon. _They aren't turning back, the fools. Would they really leave me?_ Her answer was affirmed when the small group disappeared behind a row of trees. _They would! _For a moment, she could do naught but stare at them in disbelief. Her jaw dropped open in consternation, for she half expected them to turn around. Minutes ticked by, and still, they had not returned. A thought struck her that began to tear at her wall of pride and arrogance, _Do they not truly need me? Could I be wrong?_ Anxious by now, and hardly knowing why, she simply waited. And waited.

And _waited._

The bitter rain was harsh; but the forest was harsher. The safety of the elfin camp extended only a mile or so outward before the true dangers began. Because of the moisture, the ground was treacherously slick and what made it worse were the winding, twisting, elevated pathways that weren't truly paths at all, but random breaks in the tree line. Above them was a canopy of broad leaves and beyond those the darkened, angry sky—and it was merciless. The rain intensified when the wind eventually began to calm, as though a constant balance had to be maintained. The air grew colder, the sleet thicker—the adventure grew harder as they pressed onward. To add to their discomfort, a river ran through the woods, dividing it completely in twain. Eventually, the small group would have to cross it; they only hoped that when they did that the rain would have died down.

Karia shivered as a gust of air ripped through the layers of clothes and armor she was wearing. Already, she felt fatigued from carrying around the soaked armor, growing heavier by the moment because of the continued rain. Beneath her, the ground was barely visible, and, already unsure of her footing, she was unable to keep her balance, slipping several times. Had Alistair and all the trees and foliage not been near, she knew she would have slipped and fallen.

Truth be known, the group had no definite idea of where they were supposed to go. Zathrian had not given them any indication of where Witherfang was hiding; what they were doing was walking blindly in the proverbial darkness. It was chaos. Already, Karia had lost her bearings and, had it not been for the river, she would have never been able to discern the direction in which they traveled. It was slow progress, but yet it was progress. Leliana had been right, after all; for, the majority of the monsters within the forest had not, as of yet, been sighted, choosing, instead, to remain in their dens and shelters to wait out the storm. The first hour of the journey, though wearisome, had accomplished more than anticipated, for at the fork of the river, to everyone's relief, was a bridge.

The small group observed it with great caution; for, though of sturdy make, the location was more than unusual. Extending out over a wider section of the river, the wooden bridge lacked any sort of railing save for one distinct pole that at one time might have been used for a landmark. The bridge itself arched gradually, barely rising above the water's highest crest. As they neared, Karia was surprised to see a small, grassy island at which half of the bridge ended before extending outward again to the other side. It was curious, for the bridge was well constructed, yet was placed in one of the most obscure areas. Still, the group was grateful for small blessings.

Karia gathered the party in a close circle, "Is everyone all right?"

Sten nodded once harshly, but Leliana bent over, breathing heavily, "My armor is waterlogged," she rasped, "The Dalish elves must treat their armor before entering the forest—we did no such thing."

Nodding in agreement, Karia simply readjusted the straps of her armor, "If they had any left," she sighed, "They'd have given it to us. As it is, they are trying to preserve what little of treatment of any kind they have left for what little army they have left," justified the city elf, "In any case, heavy treatment wouldn't have lasted through this storm anyway." The bard knew this and agreed, but knowledge has never been useful when it cannot solve one's discomforts.

They were discussing their next plan of action when something on the island caught Karia's attention. Squinting against the mist and rain, she peered more closely at the strange island. For a few moments, she could not discern anything abnormal…until something _moved_.

Quickly, she hushed the idle murmurings of her group and motioned their attention to the island, "Did you see that?" and it was Alistair's trained warrior's eyes that caught the movement next. He silenced the group completely and waited. _Again!_ Something was definitely wrong. Using the pounding of the rain to disguise the sloshing of his footsteps, he rounded the corner towards the bridge, signaling for the rest of the members not to follow him. Reflexes began to take effect—the severe Templar training and the time spent fighting as a Grey Warden all combining to hone his natural instincts. It was almost like switching gears—and this gear was focused on protecting his group.

The rain was still pouring too heavily to be able to immediately decide whether or not what lay ahead was a threat. Alistair narrowed his eyes. What he needed now was for the creature to move again—reveal itself. Moments later, it did: dark, charcoal fur, matted and dirty, covered the muscular body of what appeared to be a wolf. The beast's two ratty ears twitched when the knight shifted; and when the monster turned to reveal its two yellowed, feral eyes, he had to catch his breath: the two aspects of shock and instinct holding him completely still as realization dawned upon him: the beast was a werewolf.

The knight blinked the amazement off his face and motioned to the group, turning to Karia to silently mouth her a warning; but when he turned back, the monster was gone. He felt his heart stop. _Where did it go? _The rain doused any sound or movement he might have else seen or heard, and for a brief moment, he panicked. _Where is it? It can't be gone—_ and then a piercing howl arose from behind the bramble he had been using as a camouflage—it had seen _them_. Alistair backed away, drawing his sword as the werewolf came crashing through the undergrowth. Caught completely off guard, the rest of the party groped hastily for their own weapons. Suddenly, the rain did not matter—their survival was on the line.

Within moments, the group was in a defense formation: Alistair and Sten stood at the ready in front of the two women, their weapons drawn and brandished high in challenge; Leliana and Karia had drawn their bows, their arrows notched and ready, aimed directly at the werewolf's heart; and at the very front was the brave Borvo, snarling a challenge to its evil counterpart, waiting impatiently for the signal to attack. It surprised them all, however, when the werewolf halted in midstride and stood only a few feet away, growling in unmasked hatred. Another minute passed as the opponents stared each other down until eventually the werewolf's eyes caught sight of Karia, recognizing her as an elf,

"You!" a gravelly, growl erupted from the creature, "You are intruding!"

Alistair's lip curled in an ironic snarl as he murmured, "Here we go again with the intruding. You'd think people would put signs up about it or something…"

The creature ignored him and took a menacing step towards Karia, "I see you for what you are," its voice rose in intensity, "And I know why you are here."

_Intelligent creatures?_ _ Werewolves can speak? _Karia's head began spinning, _This, I did not know. Cursed, are they? Perhaps they are not all evil…_ "What reason is that?"

"Do not toy with me!" it roared, rearing on its hind legs. Karia had to gulp back a wave of fear as the brute towered every inch as tall and broad as her qunari ally, "You are one of them—the Dalish that wish to destroy us!" It howled and up from the surrounding underbrush more of his kind sprang, each equally as menacing as the first. They were _surrounded_.

"I am _not_ Dalish—" she tried to protest, but quickly its words cut her off.

"Do not lie, _elf," _the creature snapped, "Do you take us for complete _fools?_" so emphatic was its statement, so harsh, so bitter—she could feel the spittle mingle with the rain and splatter on her face, "We see what you are. You have been with the Dalish! You have come to destroy the Lady!"

_The Lady?_ Karia shook her head, "I have not come to kill _any _lady," she attempted to persuade the creature, stepping beside Alistair. The knight stared at her in alarm, fearing for her safety, but she pretended not to see, "I have come to help, if I can."

"Help? _Help?_!" the werewolf leaned over in rage, "Help us by _leaving_ this place and giving those _elves_ what death they truly deserve!"

Karia lowered her tone and softened it so that the humanoid canines had to strain to hear her, "If you would bring us to this Lady, I would have words with her. We have no desire to kill anyone. Both sides are struggling and there are more important issues to attend to than hunting others' enemies."

"You know not of what you speak…" the werewolf hissed, "We do not want _words…_we want _revenge!_"

When the wolf leaned forward, threateningly, Alistair immediately pushed Karia behind him. The beast snapped at Alistair's movement but the young Warden didn't flinch, "Not one step closer…" he growled back at the werewolf. Alistair's eyes locked onto the werewolf's and they stared each other down for long moments before the wolf, out of patience, hissed and yowled once more,

"Words you wish; and words you shall have," the big head turned to view the entire group of travelers, "Do not continue into these woods. Turn back now, or you _will _die." Without further ado, the werewolf leader yipped and howled once more, piercingly and long. After shooting each of the members of Karia's party one more warning glare, it sped away on all fours, leaping over the dense underbrush quickly and flying across the drenched forest terrain with all of the others following after.

Karia watched them go and released a long sigh. She put a hand to her chest and was surprised to find that she could feel her heart beating through the padding of her armor. Terrified was hardly an adequate enough description to express exactly how she felt. Her widened eyes met Alistair's and she saw the dying embers in his, "Did he hurt you?" he asked, adjusting his grip on his sword. When she shook her head 'no,' he exhaled sharply and murmured, "We haven't gotten the full story. Who is this _Lady?_" crossing his arms, his grumped, "Zathrian didn't mention they could speak; and he sure didn't say anything about a _lady._"

Leliana's brows furrowed, and she pushed her soaked hair behind her ears, "Both sides seem to be seeking revenge. Perhaps there may yet be a solution to suit both of them."

"Aside from utterly destroying one the other?" snorted Sten, "Not likely."

The city elf did not answer immediately. Still unsure of the extent of danger that the Brecilian Forest contained gave her pause. There had been so many of the werewolves surrounding them; and she knew that there would be more. The few they had faced had perhaps been a scouting party: the active line of defense for any 'intruders' in the area—of which Karia and her companions had been accused several times within the previous twenty-four hours. _It's a record,_ she thought dryly, wiping the rain from her eyes. What dangers they had not yet witnessed, she knew, would certainly be the most challenging to overcome. They knew little of the engulfing woods; they knew less of the creatures within. Fearful of what would happen were they to continue caused Karia to consider turning back; yet, turning back would not guarantee that they would be prepared to face the challenges the next time they ventured forth. It simply prolonged the inevitable.

The intensity of the rain had slackened since their brief meeting with the werewolves; and Karia was grateful for the small blessing. If anything, it encouraged her to make the executive decision to keep pressing on. She spoke not a word, but simply strode forth onto the bridge, no doubt to the consternation of her companions who she could hear whispering ominous doubts amongst themselves as they walked. _The best way to find this 'lady' will be to follow that werewolf. He protects her. Where he is waiting, she will be, as well._ She wanted to close her eyes, hold on to a railing—something. The waters beneath were troubled and splashing over the planks. _Creak, creak, creak_ sounded the ancient boards of the bridge as the group cautiously crossed. Each step they took, Karia flinched, anticipating the worst. Combined with the increased volume of sounds from the waking forest and the dull tapping of the ceasing rain, it only served to fray more of her already worn nerves. _This is going to be a long day…_ she thought glumly.

Sinister hisses and screeches echoed throughout the woods at random intervals; the hidden crevices soon grew suspicious eyes…yes, the forest was awakening, its inhabitants weary of waiting out the storm from within their cramped shelters. From within the thinning mists, small animals could be found skulking, fleeing from the group of trespassers within their domain. The larger ones stayed a good distance away or at least kept themselves sufficiently hidden.

As they forged deeper into the heart of the forest, Karia began to notice a subtle difference affecting the persona of the wildlife. The beasts were no longer skittish; they stopped hiding completely. Even the trees developed a malicious pattern in the movement of their branches—as though they were curled fists, swinging out at unsuspecting travelers. In fact, Karia could have sworn that some of the trees could actually _move_.

_Wait…did they?_

"Alistair!" she hissed his name, and he whirled quickly to face her, the both of them stopping abruptly, "Look there!"

He turned to follow where she was pointing and stared in confusion for a moment, "What? What am I looking at?"

"You didn't see it?" her eyes were wide with distress, "It moved! The tree moved!"

The young Warden almost laughed at the absurdity of her statement and turned to face her, obstructing her view, "Trees don't move, Karia," he grinned and explained, "Contrary to what old tales you may have heard, trees don't just walk around—"

Her eyes grew wider, "Alistair…"

"I know it's hard to believe, especially when this forest is so creepy, but—"

"Alistair!" she shouted, "Behind you!"

The sudden alarm in her voice urged him to obey. _What's the matter with her? _He thought. _She's paranoid—why are there leaves on my shoulder?—there aren't any…Oh Maker— _and the sight he saw choked back his shout of surprise when he realized—

_It's a walking tree!_

They stared each other down, the man and the tree; for, when the monster realized that it had been spotted, it had stopped moving and was watching the small party with undisguised interest that was borderline hostile. Gnarled, gray bark twisted into a contorted face in the upper portion of the trunk, with protruding, wooden knobs as eyes, and a large hollow orifice revealing a gaping mouth that was twisted into a crooked sneer. Spindly branches with definite divisions for makeshift _fingers_ hung in abnormal lengths at each side of the sylvan; and the trunk of its body divided in the middle towards the roots into two halves, distinguishable as stocky, knotted legs, the toes curling into the earth like vises. Covered in layers of moss and with leaves in profusion among its upper branches, it was hardly distinguishable from any other tree.

Until, of course, it _moved._

The five adventurers stood still as stone, hardly daring to breathe lest any sudden movements cause an undesirable, and possibly violent, reaction from the sylvan. The monster seemed to groan, what Karia perceived was as close to a growl as the tree could come. It was foolish, but at that perilous moment, she couldn't help but wonder: _Does it breathe? How is it doing that? Does it have lungs? _Bending its massive trunk and causing the bark to wrinkle into more distorted patterns, it slowly eased one leg forward, closer to the waiting party. Alistair resisted the overwhelming urge to back away, knowing it could be life or death at stake if he did. Eventually, it all came down to a contest of wills.

_Who_ would break, _first_?

Borvo, who had been trailing behind since the encounter with the werewolves, caught the scent of the feral sylvan from where he currently had been exploring several hundred yards behind them. Sharp eyes detected the offender and a protective pack instinct took over. A growl arose from deep within his chest and he took a bold step forward. After a few more, he broke into a full dash down the path towards his master, barking and growling in fierce abandon.

The commotion startled the gray sylvan, and the knotted protrusions that were its eyes, flickered to see the war hound loping towards it. The tree widened its knotty eyes and curled its long branched fingers in rage, a fierce challenge bellowing from the cracked fissure that was its mouth. Karia and her comrades rallied, recognizing that moment as their only chance to escape. Alistair and Karia, closest to the enraged beast, sloshed frantically in the mud to get out of the way as the tree began erratically swinging its limbs to and fro attempting to strike one of its adversaries. Alistair ducked and felt a whoosh of air brush by his neck and a cold chill ran down his spine. _That was close…_he thought, having only barely enough time to grasp the hilt of his sword before another wooden fist came crashing into the ground beside him. Quickly, he lashed out with his weapon to attack the hand. The sword rang as it left the sheath and ended with a loud _thud_ when it struck the wood.

_It was stuck!_

Alistair yanked, but was shoved aside by the branch. The sylvan screeched, but from annoyance rather than pain. Minimal damage, if any, would be done by melee weapons. Scrambling to his feet, Alistair narrowly avoided being clouted again and was able to leap out of the rampaging monster's path.

Karia was not so lucky. Her boot had sunk into the mud as they stood and when the opportunity came for them to flee, she couldn't—literally. Already with one foot nearly sunk to the knee in the mire, she could find no better footing for her other one and was struggling desperately to free herself. Leliana, a small distance away, stopped to help her, but the effort only resulted in the bard getting sucked into the sludge as well. It was a hopeless, dangerous mess.

The sylvan seemed to focus its efforts on the one that had threatened it most: Alistair. Mercilessly, it raged at him, throwing whatever heavy object lay within its path at the struggling knight. Its giant feet, however, were treacherously close to squishing to two women; and it was all Alistair could do to lead the beast away from them. Sten and Borvo had flanked it, but could not get near enough to do much damage because of the inconsistent way that the tree moved. Borvo barked fiercely, and Sten attempted to hack at it with his own blade; yet, it was ineffective. The tree would simply brush them aside, knocking them further back than before. They had no chance—it was a losing battle.

Alistair ducked, dodged, leapt—trying to avoid being hammered into oblivion; but he was tiring. Fighting in mud was more exhaustive than fighting upon firm ground. Not only did he have to struggle against the pressure of avoiding the tree, he also had to struggle against the intense suction of the mud on his feet. He stood again to his feet and saw Sten make a run for the giant tree. This time, the qunari struck well and his blade sliced into the thicker layers of the tree's bark, causing thick syrup to ooze from its open wound. The sylvan screamed and kicked the big man away. But the pain only helped to enrage the beast further, and the attacks became even _worse._

Alistair was desperate now. Twice, it had swung at the two women who were entangled in the marsh, only barely missing. The third time it swung, he and Sten were ready. The giant qunari sliced his broadsword into the exposed wound, and the Warden, from the other side, leaped onto the tree's trunk, climbing up the twisted bark to reach his sword that was still embedded in the monster's limbs. With the invasion of its person, the sylvan began to flail and squirm—stiffly, yet jarringly. Alistair gritted his teeth against the friction he felt every time it moved and continued to clamber upwards. Several times, it reached for him, and he was forced to drop down to a different branch and try a different route. One particular move placed him directly behind the monster where he discovered the inflexible arms could not quite reach him. _Perfect!_ Once there, he was able to balance by holding onto the myriad branches extending in various directions and avoid the grasping limbs by hiding behind others. All that was left was for him to _wait._

_And stay alive,_ he grumped to himself, dodging another attack.

Moments later, the spindly branch rose threateningly above him again, and he saw his sword. _Now or never, _he thought, and took a desperate leap towards the boughs, grasping just enough of the tree to keep him from falling. His muscles screamed at the abuse as suddenly the tree began to recklessly shake the limb, trying frantically to toss the offender from his precarious perch. Alistair hung on by sheer willpower as he felt his body being shaken like a rag-doll in every conceivable direction. His sword was close, but only barely out of reach; yet, he knew he would not be able to reach it with the tree flinging him about—he didn't _dare_ let go yet.

Beneath him, Sten was busily hacking away at the tough legs. The irritants on both sides had distracted the tree sufficiently, but had not drawn them any further from the two struggling women, still deeply encased within the mud. At one point, Alistair felt the tree slacken its attempts to shake him, _Now's my chance!_ He decided to reach out for his sword and succeeded in grasping the hilt—_yes! I've got it_—when the sylvan suddenly bellowed in unmistakable fury and anguish, for Sten had managed to hit a nerve, chopping off the remainder of the portion of its leg. It raged aloud and kicked at the qunari again with its uninjured leg, throwing him into a tree and knocking him unconscious. Alistair shut his eyes—_I'm next…_and held on for dear life. The sylvan thrashed its boughs fiercely, loosening the sword and sending the man flying several yards away. He crashed heavily into the ground and rolled till he collided with a tree. Alistair groaned and tried to sit up when his world suddenly began spinning and, as he laid motionless, turned black.

Karia watched the events taking place with a mixture of horror and shock. She had never before known how violent these legendary creatures could be; and she feared greatly for the lives of her companions. Beside her, Leliana was still struggling, but was only succeeding in being sucked down deeper and deeper. Borvo, unable to reach the tree, had long since abandoned attacking and had chosen, instead, to free his master. Yet, as much mud as the mighty paws of the mabari were able to dig, the effort was futile. Several times, she had believed they would be squashed, but Alistair and Sten had been able to fend off the monster—

_Until now_.

She felt her heart stop when Alistair was thrown, her mind racing back to that day not so long ago when they were in the Tower of Ishal battling an Ogre. There had just been the two of them; and they had made a brilliant team. Now, there were more, and the struggle was equally as great; the difference was that she was unable to do anything to help him this time.

The sylvan, finally free of distractions, reached two ominous claws for the two women—and they could do nothing but stare. Borvo barked and snapped, yet it did not hinder the hands' progress. Karia closed her eyes, _waiting._ She didn't want to see the fate awaiting her—_not yet_.

In the distance, she thought she could hear chanting, and a swirling of wind, and especially _heat._ _There is no heat—it's raining, and cold, and…that sounds strangely like a campfire…_ and she risked a small peek. Suddenly, a burst of searing flame jetted through the sky and slammed into the enraged sylvan. It screamed as suddenly it burst into gigantic flames. The amber-colored syrup reacted to the heat and ignited, shooting fire _inside_ of the wooden giant. It roared and groaned, its arms whirling as the fire caused a furious internal combustion. Smoke poured from its gaping mouth; its knotted eyes revealed horror. It went _mad._ Bark crackled, turned black, and eventually disintegrated as the entire entity became consumed in one more giant ball of flame, leaving nothing but a heap of smoldering ashes in its place.

The area was filled with smoke. Leliana and Karia coughed, covering their noses and mouths to keep from inhaling too much of it. All was still. Yet, the little elf's mind was working a hundred miles an hour: _What happened? How did—what—that was amazing! Who—_

And suddenly, an old familiar voice rose above the crackling of the dying embers, "Well, well, well—lying down on the job, are we?"

_Morrigan!_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: 5 more days and then "We're outta here!" Craziness! :) I'm so excited! Summer tour begins, which means we'll be constantly on the road, doing nonsense, singing, doing more nonsense. I love it. It's gonna be great! :) It also means that my stories may actually leave the boring slump they've been in for a the past few chapters. My apologies to all my readers who are wondering where the author of the exciting chapter 8 disappeared to. ;) It will get better, I promise. At least...I hope so. This chapter is a lot of "thought" and...well, I guess you'll see. Thanks to those who added! And Raven Jadewolfe for the review! Love y'all! Have an awesome week and an amazing summer!  
_

**_~oOo~oOo~oOo~_**

Slouching carelessly, with one hand on her hips, and the other hand clutching her black staff, the witch stared down haughtily at her leader and the bard and clicked her tongue in mock disapproval, "Chasing a dread wolf, were you not? And here I find you playing in the mud."

Karia suppressed her joy in seeing the woman and sarcastically replied, "I'm not playing. I just had this brilliant idea that Witherfang might be hiding down here."

Raising her brow, Morrigan nodded, "Any luck so far?"

"Why don't you come down here and take a look yourself?" was the challenging, yet completely docile response.

Morrigan chuckled coldly. "Ah, I see some ire, at last, out of our leader," she leaned down and grasped Karia's muddy hand, chanting a minor spell to dry some of the mud surrounding herself so she could find firm footing. Slowly, the elf was eased out of the muck after being stuck there, helplessly, for an entire battle. The elf was glad to have use of her legs again. Once firmly on her own two feet, Karia smiled and gleefully threw her arms around the witch's neck,

"I'm so glad you came," was all she said, only expressing a fraction of the joy she felt in the woman's appearance. She squeezed the witch's neck once more before running to attend to the two men who had borne the brunt of the battle.

Morrigan stood aghast, her body tense and erect, being completely uncomfortable with the little elf's exuberance. She was unaccustomed to displaying affection because she had never known affection before—none from her mother, and especially none from outsiders. That her leader was so pleased with her simple appearance was more than baffling and something that she could not quite grasp. The mind of a mercenary yet functions as a mercenary; and Morrigan convinced herself that the gratitude her leader felt stemmed merely from the fact that their puny lives had only just been spared. _That must be it. I knew they could not survive without me, the fools._ Yet, though she tried to dispel the nagging doubts, something within her insisted that she was wrong.

Karia knelt beside the motionless body of her fellow Warden and checked for his pulse—her own heart racing fearfully. _Silence..._she pressed her finger to his neck and waited, _Nothing? There's got to be…wait, it's faint…_the bated breath she had not known she was holding was released in a long sigh when she discovered, at least, he was still alive. Gently, she nudged his shoulder, calling his name. When he didn't respond, she pushed harder and spoke louder, but to no avail. She frowned, _Oh no…what if he's broken something?_ And her small hands reached to feel along his arms_. _Her eyes widened when her small hands couldn't completely encircle his biceps. The feeling shocked her and, suddenly, she realized what she was doing, _If he wakes up and I'm still…oh no…_ Inwardly, she cringed; _I had better finish quickly…_ Rapidly, yet thoroughly, she checked for broken bones, hoping desperately he remained unconscious long enough for her to finish. Hurriedly, she unbuckled his armor—just enough to reach her hands inside. However, as she moved down across his back, he began to stir.

_Ouch…_the man groaned, feeling numb on one side of his body, and everywhere else extreme soreness.He was still lying face down where he had fallen, and, even though he wanted to move, he could not quite find the energy to do so. _What in the Maker's name was I thinking, _he grumbled inwardly to himself, _attacking a tree?_

His thoughts became suddenly distracted by the gentle pressure on his back. _That feels…really good…_ he thought, relaxing. _Wait a minute, where am I?_ And suddenly, the realization struck him: _The sylvan! Maker, if it's taken Karia…_ panic struck him as the scenario replayed in his mind of the last place he had seen the girl. _Then what is touching me?_ _What's going on? _Panic and fear took over his reflexes and he rolled quickly onto his back, his muscles screaming in protest with every movement. His vision blurred and his head pounded from having been prostrate for so long, and he grappled blindly with the supposed offender. Karia's eyes widened in fear, and she screamed as her hands were captured and she was flung forward across his chest, her arms crossed in front of her, trapped in his iron grip.

Alistair stopped struggling, cringing at the nearness of the scream as gradually his foggy senses began to clear. _Oh no…_for suddenly he realized, it was no enemy he had within his clutches, but the beautiful city elf, stunned and completely breathless.

They stared at each other silently for a few awkward moments, both completely taken aback and not sure exactly what to do about it. Alistair's mouth went completely dry, and he spluttered as he tried to think of the right words to say to apologize. He couldn't think at all, at this point.

When she recovered from her initial shock, she felt her body begin to shake—it was an unconscious reaction to subconscious memories that she had tried unsuccessfully to forget. Images raced through her mind: _Bann Vaughn, Nelaros, Shianni…_ _The smell of the soldiers' sweat as they held the women captive in their unyielding arms, their armor cutting into the unprotected flesh of each of the captive elves, the smell of blood when the Sister resisted, the stains upon the dungeon floor, the_ _screams of terror echoing the stone hallways…_

"Let me go!" she cried, seeing instead the face of Bann Vaughn in her mind's eye rather than her Warden companion. She struggled fiercely and Alistair saw the shift of recognition in her eyes for that brief moment. Finally jerked out of his shock by her reaction, however, he simply let go. Bursting from her temporary captivity, she scooted a few feet backwards, her breaths coming rapidly, and wrapped her arms around herself as though to ward off the demons of an unresolved trauma.

Alistair held his breath, watching this with great alarm. Slowly, he stood to his feet and tentatively approached her, "Karia?" he whispered, taking a step nearer. He called her name again, gently, and knelt down in front of her. Her eyes were closed. Keeping his voice steady and low he spoke again, "Karia, look at me."

Reluctantly, she let her eyes flutter open to focus on his own. Ever so gradually, the dark shutters in the depths of her eyes faded into recognition and she took a long, steadying breath. Alistair's own relief was more than evident by the smile on his face,

"Are…are you all right? I didn't mean to—"

"Yes," she affirmed quickly, suddenly embarrassed, "It was an accident…" she assured him, avoiding eye contact, "Are you?"

Bravely, he straightened himself out, "Yes," and smiled, "I'm fine, thanks." There was silence for a few more seconds as the both of them silently vowed to put the discomfiting situation completely behind them. Karia was screaming at herself internally. _You know better…what an idiot you've made of yourself, this time. Emotion betrays weakness…you can't be weak yet—not now, not ever. Too many people are counting on you…_ and yet all she wanted to do right then was hide—cry—_anything_. That night in the alienage was a weakness she had long since tried to move past, and yet the thought still frightened her to death. The problem wasn't that she didn't trust people anymore, it was that she trusted them too easily, and became crushed when the trust was broken. She was enormously terrified of the pain of _knowing_ people would let her down one day. Like Bann Vaughn—she had too long been reliant on his tentative restraint, and suddenly to have him completely send her world spinning with the heinous crimes he had committed—on her wedding day, no less—was a proverbial knife in her back. What further wounded her was knowing how much damage one single person could do in the lives of so many. _One_ person. The thought that plagued her, haunted her, and hindered her own effectiveness was believing that _everyone _was like that; _anyone_ could inflict this pain and eventually would…

_Wouldn't they? _

Alistair was infuriated with himself, believing _he _had been the one that had so badly upset her. _ I don't know what happened, but I can't fix it, _and that, more than anything, bothered him the most. She was calmed down in a few, short moments and had resumed her measure of calm aloofness that had always so deeply intrigued him. _She moves on so quickly…or does she?_ So many different thoughts were bombarding him and he couldn't quite hide his confusion, however, as he tried to piece together the current situation, "How did you—what happened to—" he glanced quickly around him, "Where is it?" he gulped, "and please don't tell me we've all died."

Karia smiled softly, guardedly, "No, we are not dead. No one died," her eyes glinted with controlled pleasure and motioned at the witch who was casting healing spells on the big qunari, "She came—_Morrigan_ saved us."

The announcement itself nearly knocked Alistair unconscious again and he spluttered, "M-_Morrigan?_ Now I _know_ I've died! It's the fade, isn't it? What kind of trickery is this?" He spoke sarcastically, though the uncertainty he felt could not quite be disguised. Karia almost laughed at his consternation,

"It's no dream; though I assure you that I felt the same surprise."

_I'm pretty sure my surprise is a lot more surprising than yours, _his thoughts argued, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to scowl doubtfully. Karia frowned at him, and the disapproval in her eyes wiped away the scowl. _Those eyes…they say novels more than she does. And I don't want to read any more into the look I just got…_ _I wonder what they say when she's happy? Not that she's been truly happy—I know I wouldn't be in her position. But then again…I'm not _un_happy either. What would make her happy? How can I make her smile again?_ The question was an itch in the back of his mind, constantly recurring, constantly nagging. It had become his personal challenge to make her laugh—smile—_truly_ smile. Her calmness and decisiveness in the midst of everything inspired him—kept him steady. The fact that she had never complained, either, intrigued him. He wasn't the only one suffering, though he was certain he was the only one complaining. _I've probably got to work on that, too, _he admitted. He realized he had _much_ to work on and determined to at least _try _to resolve the problems. But what he didn't realize was that he was staring at the elf, then, as he thought.

Karia swallowed nervously beneath his scrutinizing gaze. _Why is he staring? _Self consciously, she averted her eyes, just _knowing_ how ridiculous she must look. _That must be why he is staring—I'm covered in mud; my hair is a mess; I look dreadful. He must be laughing!_ But the expression on his face revealed no such mirth. Her thoughts scattered in different directions, racing down rabbit trails and disappearing into dead-ends, _He really is handsome, for a human…_ and another screamed, _Enough of that foolishness—have you forgotten what the humans have done to you?_ Yet another voice she heard echoed: _You are a Warden; they are their own people, not the mere men you are used to._ And one more protested, _Duty first. Whatever you feel about anyone is irrelevant. Past is past; future is uncertain; the present…its strings unravel as the Blight's destruction tugs at the loose threads._ _You have no life to return to because you may not return at all…_

Coldshivers raced down her spine_…_shadows of foreboding tugged at her mind as her thoughts began to wrap around the new, strange concept. It was almost tangible, how _real_ the idea was. And yet, at the same time, it was so _distant._ The entire insinuation had formed seemingly out of thin air and, although Karia's head acknowledged it as a plausible theory, her emotions had yet to grasp the gravity of what it could mean. _Could this mean that I—_

"I suppose the buffoon needs a bit of patching up?" came the sultry, sarcastic question, startling both Wardens from their own individual reveries. Morrigan stood beside Karia with her arms crossed. Critical eyes scanned Alistair up and down and the man frowned at her,

"Oh, not at all," he retorted, "I mean, I only got batted about by a blasted _tree_—no big deal."

The witch sniffed, "My thoughts exactly," and she began to walk away. Alistair glared at her retreating form and shook his head, keeping silent though he felt compelled to say more. And Karia, disturbed from her present thoughts, sighed knowing that Alistair was too proud to beg Morrigan, and the witch would spare no more mercy than was absolutely necessary. If neither of them died in battle, the elf wondered if it were possible that they might end up simply killing each other.

_Probably_…

In any case, she was eager to retreat from Alistair's intense gazes, although she was pleased to find that they had transformed into glares and were being directed at Morrigan's back. When she approached Sten, the qunari warrior allowed her no time to determine whether or not he was still able to press on. With his sword drawn, he pointed towards the forest, "Why are we wasting our time idling here? Do we not have this wolf to seek?"

Karia couldn't argue—_wouldn't._ He was right, after all. She cast a questioning glance at Leliana, but the bard insisted that she was still more than ready to continue. A raindrop landed on the elf's nose and she wiped it off, watching the dismal sky in the scattered places where the branches had not concealed it.Her hair was dripping wet, and the water ran down her leather armor in rivulets that washed away small traces of mud at a time. From the ground where she and Leliana had been detained, she picked her weapons, slinging her bow again over her shoulder. Her sword, she wiped dry with her sleeve and sheathed while penetrating green eyes analyzed her surroundings once more, "We must be going in the right direction," she said, trying to sound confident, "Trouble's already found us," and with that she whistled her mabari to her side and trudged onward.

Dutifully, the qunari followed her with the bard stepping lightly behind him. Morrigan sighed heavily and rolled her eyes as she followed her leader, striding towards the front, "I suppose I will continue with you. It appears you may yet need a little looking after," and Karia disguised the smile forming on her lips with a sharp cough. It was Alistair that hesitated this time,

_How does she do it? Pick up and go, like that?_ He marveled at the elf, though he knew he probably shouldn't be surprised. _After a battle, after she could have been killed, after everything—all the stress, she just takes a deep breath and keeps moving? How can she do it?_ Still in awe, he watched her as she walked confidently forward, and he wondered if he should be frightened—either of her or for her, he wasn't sure. After Ostagar, when he was certain that she had been killed, he had watched her simply walk away, take action, and move forward. It surprised him more that he had not seen her cry—not even once.

He shook his head, still not understanding, as he trudged after her. More than once, he slipped on the slick mud in his haste to close the large gap that had formed between him and the rest of the group. The forest was slowly turning into a giant swamp, he thought, for there was nowhere to stand where it wasn't slick or spongy or soggy. Puddles, hidden in the wild grass, splashed up around his legs and soaked into his thick boots. He felt miserable. The day was dreary and he _felt_ dreary. The cold and rain mixed with the impending, unknown danger only further helped to darken his mood.

Sometime during their travel, they had ceased following the river and Karia was beginning to feel the first pangs of doubt in the back of her mind. The only distinctive factor she was able to discern was the fact that the forest had become even more condensed and confusing. What she thought was level ground would suddenly plunge down into a cliff, and small paths that would randomly appear led them in wide circles. Any variances they attempted only succeeded in robbing them of any possible sense of direction they had. Small blessings: the further in they walked, the less dangerous the footing, yet the more dangerous the foes. The looming shadows were no longer simply _shadows, _but _creatures,_ now. Several times, Karia had to catch her breath, hearing certain sounds and expecting something—_anything_ to appear and attack them.

Her head turned quickly when she saw a particularly dark shadow. _What was that?_ Scrutinizing the blackness, she nudged Leliana gently, "I think I saw something again. I don't know…"

The bard nodded, "We're being followed."

Karia had to force herself to keep her voice calm and deliberate, "For how long?"

"Who knows?" she shrugged, "It has been unnaturally stealthy—more so than even the Dalish."

"Is it hostile?"

"No…not _yet…_" answered the woman, "Or else it would have already attacked us. For right now, it is simply _curious…_"

The elf nodded, accepting this, knowing she had no other choice but to _wait_ for the creature to act. It was becoming frustrating—all the _waiting_ and _anxiety_. Every step they took seemed to pull them further and further under a shadow of fear and anticipation—of danger, the unknown, and the inevitable. Within the vastness of the forest lurked more than Karia was willing to handle, let alone _able_ to handle. And yet, somewhere, hidden within the forest lay the key to Ferelden's salvation—at least, a piece of it. She was beginning to realize that the journey she was undertaking was no simple feat. It was growing more and more complex by the day.

By the _minute._

They halted at another fork in the "trail," where they could easily distinguish a low path and a high path. Neither looked promising. Karia was not eager to decide, but the eyes that stared expectantly upon her were _waiting_ for her decision. _Why me? Why not Alistair?_ She thought bitterly for a moment before resignedly deciding, "We will head down the low path—if anything, maybe we'll find that hole Witherfang is using for a shelter," and the group veered onto the grassy slope.

Slower progress was made here. The entire landscape was flooded, and the lower lands had become temporary marshes, almost impossible to traverse. Yet, they did, though with great difficulty. As their boots sloshed through the thick, cohesive mire, Karia screamed at herself inwardly at her stupidity for choosing this course of action. _What was I thinking?_ The next step she took yanked her boot from her foot and she nearly toppled forward. The bard beside her grasped her shoulder, steadying her as she yanked her boot out of the mud and pulled it back onto her wet foot.

Eventually, the slope leveled and began to rise, the breaks in the density of the trees becoming more prominent. On either side of them, the forest was still thick and nearly impassable, while the grassy path before them remained clear. Karia narrowed her eyes, not quite believing what she was seeing. There _was_ a path. As the path began to slope upward, the two planes on either side of the grassy incline veered up sharply, making the indent even more distinct. At the top of the hill, however, Karia noted an abnormal shape looming just over the rise where the path apparently descended again. As they pushed on further, she was surprised to discover that it resembled fog—swirling, thick, and yet…_contained._

"That's odd…" remarked Alistair, coming up beside her, "Look how the fog just sits there—and _only_ there." As the group neared the rise, they faced the obstruction suspiciously, for there was now no way around, for the cliffs had risen significantly on either side, leaving them only two directions: forward or backward. Alistair shook his head in thought, "I've never seen fog like that before."

Sten grumbled deep in his chest, "This is no mere fog…"

"Well, obviously," the warden knight retorted sarcastically, "Or else it would be _everywhere_, wouldn't it."

"The question is," Leliana sighed, leaning forward wearily, her hands gripping above her knees for support, "what is it?"

Alistair answered quickly, "It's magic," he waved a gloved hand as he explained, "The veil is thin here—I can feel it."

At the mention of magic, Karia turned to Morrigan who had been silently observing the situation from behind the rest of the group, "Do you know anything of this? Is it safe?"

Tipping her head slightly to the side, also puzzled by the formation, Morrigan mused, "It is almost an innate magic, this. Neither predatory, nor friendly; however, it is definitely not _safe._" She couldn't resist a smirk at the templar, "_He_ can attest to that, I am sure."

The young man glowered, "Yes, leave it to the _ex_-templar. I get it," he sighed, "I…hate to agree with Morrigan, but it isn't dangerous. We could always walk through it—_that's _a novel idea—" he smirked, "and see what it's about, exactly."

Karia slipped her hand forward into the swirling miasma, feeling the precipitation coagulate on her skin, and frowned, perplexed. _It seems harmless enough, but already a templar and a witch have deemed it magic…_ She didn't know enough about magic to be incredibly fearful of it, yet she knew that not all magic was good. That the mist was stationary gave her more pause than anything else. While the others in her small party began to debate, she silently slipped forward into the darkness, testing it. All at once, the thickness enveloped her and she found herself surrounded in grayness, as though she were inside a cloud. She walked forward and almost immediately found herself staring back at the group she had just left behind. _How did I get turned around?_ She faced the fog once more and stepped inside, recognizing the same gray room as before. Making a conscious effort this time, she stepped _forward—_

And found herself back_—again_.

It was the most frustrating situation, and her obvious displeasure caught Alistair's attention. He glanced askance, and she tipped her head at the fog, "It's impenetrable. Try it," she put her hand through, "Walk through it and see what happens."

Tentatively, the Warden ventured into the fog. The surrounding gray haze countered what sense of direction he had; and when his next step forward brought him back to where he had entered, he did not immediately believe Karia's discovery, "Let me try again," he proposed and again strode into the mist, determined not to lose his direction.

When next he entered—and exited—he found himself looking into Karia's expectant eyes. Resignedly, he shrugged, "I don't see any reason for it, but I can't get through."

"The forest is guiding us, it seems," Leliana said in her low, mysterious voice, "Or else simply protecting itself."

"Wait, forests can do that?" asked the confused templar.

Karia shook her head. They would get no further this way. The only way left for them to go was _back_. It was frustrating; and the mud, the rain, the wind, the waiting, the brushes with death—the entire _day_ was beginning to turn her mood sour. It took all the rest of her waning energy to keep her face neutral. Everybody else was probably struggling with their own troubles without her mood adding to it.

After all, she _hated_ drama.

_Practical people practice practical precedents, _her father would always say during her younger years in the alienage. _Leaders don't do drama, they diffuse it._ Little did she know that she would be in the position she dreaded the most: leadership. Small phrases like this that she had always scorned were suddenly at the forefront of her mind as she tried to re-school herself in what her parents had drilled into her to keep her from turning into the ruffian that most undisciplined city elves became.

They were traveling back down the soggy incline when Karia spotted something out of the corner of her eye—a small fissure in the side of the trail, cutting jaggedly into the steep hill. It had been nigh invisible on the way up because of the sharp direction in which it swerved. She paused and her hesitance alerted the others. Alistair, closest to her, remarked, "This may be our way around," he offered her a grin, and, though her smile was cautious, she felt her irritation seep away as she wondered: _How does he do that?_

More rocky than muddy, they found their footing easier and had a less tiring hike. The hills formed a wall on either side of them, funneling them forward and into a small, open valley. Lush, welcoming foliage surrounded them, as well as a few scattered wooden chests around an old campfire.

_Wait…chests?_

Karia would have kept walking through had Alistair not stopped her. "Wait a minute—don't you think this is odd?"

She agreed, "Yes, which is why I'm going to check it out."

"Did the fact that it may be a trap ever cross your mind?" he asked, his concern for her safety adding harshness to his normally casual tone.

Karia gazed up at him in slight confusion, "Yes, of course."

Slightly frustrated with her nonchalance, he raised his voice, "You could get hurt!"

_Hurt? _Blinking in surprise at the ferocity of his tone, she replied, "Any one of us could get hurt at any moment."

The man could barely believe it. She didn't _understand_ what the thought of her being in pain was doing to him. _He _didn't understand it fully either—but that was beside the point. "Karia, if you knew it could be a trap and that you would be in danger, then _why_ walk straight into it?" he didn't realize how loud his voice had gotten in his exasperation, and the other members, as surprised as the elf was with the man, remained silent to watch the argument. Karia felt her ire rise slightly at his vehemence, still not completely understanding the problem,

"Eventually, one of us would have had to venture into this. I…feel responsible for this group," her own voice rose as she tried to defend her position, "It is _my_ duty, then, to ensure that everyone remains safe. Growing up where I did, this," a small hand waved at the camp, "is basic. I grew up with traps. Why are you so worried?" it was almost an accusation, yet there was no malice in her words.

_Why_ am _I so worried? _he wondered, but the intensity of his concern would not be diminished, "We are a _team._ I _refuse_ to let you take the brunt of what dangers lie ahead!"

"Like you and Sten took the brunt of that battle with the sylvan?" she countered.

"That was different," he insisted, "That's what warriors do—"

She smiled at the irony, "Alistair," and the gentle sound of his name on her lips stopped him in his rant, "_This_ is what _I_ do."

Inwardly, he fumed. He knew she was right, and yet it did not make him feel any better about it. He was thoroughly silenced and had no other excuse to hold her back while she fearlessly moved forward into the abandoned camp. Anger boiled within him and he was afraid to admit the true reason behind it. _She's impossible—so practical, so mechanical…_ and then another side of him rationalized, _No she isn't…she isn't a machine, Alistair, and you know it. Just because she has more self-control is no reason to be angry with her._ The defensive side of him raged. _She will rationalize herself to her death!_ _How can I not be upset about that? Her practicality is the most impractical thing about her!_ And then the horrible truth that he had been trying to suppress for the entire argument began to take head: _You're afraid, that's what. You're afraid you will be alone, and you hate being alone. She is the only Warden left besides you in all of Ferelden, and if you lose that, you have nothing. _Alistair gritted his teeth when he saw her fingers brush against one of the trunks, fearful that something would pop out and snatch her, while the demon of admission and truth in his thoughts mocked him mercilessly:

_You care for her, don't you? _

Alistair felt his heart stop for a moment as realization dawned upon him. _What you're really afraid of is losing the one person left in your life that you care for—that could possibly care for you…and you'd do whatever it takes to protect that._

_I would—I will…_ he vowed to himself.

Karia was cautious as she inspected the campsite—still slightly distracted at Alistair's sudden outburst. _Why does it matter to him what happens to me? He is human—I am an elf; when has it ever mattered to his kind what happens to me?_ This teaching that her people had harbored for centuries was a mental road block that she could not quite overcome. She knew that the Wardens were a people set aside—no discrimination between the races. And some days, she could believe it—in her head, only. Her heart had never truly accepted the fact that it was where she truly belonged. She was no longer merely an elf: she was a Grey Warden. And just as her elfin people looked out for one another, the Wardens were the same. The elfin people in the alienage had always been a communal family. Unable to return to her Denerim home, she was alone. Yet, Duncan had treated her as though she were one of his own.

_Does that mean…that the Wardens are my new family?_

It was a concept she was unwilling to ponder, and therefore, pushed it to the back of her mind.

_Again._

Leliana approached the campsite as well, and Karia gave her a quizzical glance. After the discussion that had taken place with Alistair, Karia was curious as to why Leliana would put herself in possible danger so deliberately. The bard saw the question in the elf's eyes and smiled, "Don't worry, my friend—I am no stranger to these things either."

_Friend?_

Another thought Karia was having trouble accepting, as appealing as it was. However, it was neither the time nor the place to dwell on it. Her thoughts were more focused on _who_ or _what_ would be crazy enough to camp out in the middle of the Brecilian forest. What struck her even more curiously was the fact that the ground was dry around the perimeter, as though it had never rained there. _Very curious, indeed_. Moments later, Morrigan gripped her staff suddenly and remarked, "Be cautious. We are not alone…"

Karia looked up from the campfire she was inspecting, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," the witch said, casting surreptitious glances about her, "that the probable owner of this camp is nearby, and may be watching."

Alistair let his templar training _feel_ the area and his brows furrowed in slight alarm, "I sense magic here, too."

The elf then turned to Leliana, "Do you think it is the same presence you sensed before that had been following us?" When the bard negated the idea, Karia felt an alarm begin to ring in the back of her mind. But before any of them could react, a flash of light, smoke, and a miniature explosion blackened the center of the camp, separating the bard and the elf from the rest of the group. They coughed as the thick black smoke filled their lungs and their eyes, and out from the very heart of the problem, a thin, gravelly voice rasped,

"Have you _no_ respect for an old man's home?"

And there, standing in the midst of the camp, seemingly impervious to the smoke, was a withered, old man.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: I'm SOOOOO sorry! I disappeared off of the face of Fan Fiction in order to travel the western half of America on tour-well, a college singing group anyway. And in all the hectic mess, I neglected you all, and I apologize. So, finally, after nearly 3 months of inactivity, I return with the19th chapter of our story. I hope you all are having an amazing summer! It's been a toasty one! ;) I do promise, though, that this story is about to get a little toasty too... tee hee hee... just wait and see! You hopeless romantics may appreciate the end of this chapter. I don't follow a lot of the game on this one because I'm leading up to the sequel in Awakenings. I may or may not have found a way for Alistair to marry outside of the Couslands... But then again, you'll just have to keep reading. Muahahahaha! _

**_~oOo~oOo~oOo~_**

"What have we here?" the old man wheezed as he gave each of the members of Karia's party a critical glare, "We do not have many _visitors_ in these woods anymore…" Crazed eyes began to blaze with suspicion, "Perhaps they have come as _thieves_!"

Morrigan harrumphed from where she stood at the edge of camp, muttering in irritation, "Imbecile—had we desired to _steal_ anything, it would have already been gone."

With astuteness unexpected for his age, the man turned and pointed a finger at the witch, "What little one can judge by appearance…" the breaths he took were strained, sounding as though he were hissing deep in his throat. Sharp eyes flitted back to the two women who were standing in the midst of his camp and he began to chuckle—a thin, croaking sound, "And what is _this _trickery, eh?"

His aged, yet piercing gaze sought Karia's, and she felt a tingle of difference in the air around her—a different sensation from sensing darkspawn, yet similar in that it felt almost _electrical_, as though the very air itself were vibrating. _He is no ordinary old man…_ her thoughts warned. Had his magical appearance into their midst not been enough evidence, further proof emanated from his being like ripples in a pond: subtle, yet distinct; invisible, yet tangible. There was more to the old man than just his crusty exterior. A shiver ran down Karia's spine, though she forced her voice to sound assured and confident when she replied, "It is no trickery. We mean you no harm."

Eyes—dark and intelligent—bored again into her mind, "You…" he began to cackle, "…you are of the _Grey…_" bony fingers wiggled as though the name were some sort of incantation, channeled through the very essence of the Order.

Alistair's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, "Yes, _we_ are Grey Wardens," he emphasized, trying to draw the old man's attention away from his female companions, "and…it's a pleasure to meet you," he said out of sarcastic habit, realizing well enough that the pleasantries were misplaced. There was silence as the piercing, old eyes stared down the young man, cold, calculating, cruel. _He looks like Morrigan when he does that,_ Alistair thought wryly. _Well, I might as well find something interesting to say, so_… "er…nice…campfire you have there," he finished and immediately his afterthoughts scoffed, _That was lame._ Thankfully, it didn't truly matter what the Warden said, for the man was nearly half mad, as it were, already. As Alistair spoke, the man's attention scattered and he muttered to himself in strange, ominous tones. Spindly arms waved erratically at the air and beat at seemingly nothing where he stood on wobbly legs.

_He's mad,_ Morrigan thought, _a blubbering fool who happens to know a few good magic tricks…_

Swatting again at nothing, he paused to glance at each of the companions, "You must have…_things_…to trade?" he asked with a nearly toothless grin, the remains of blackened teeth protruding in disarray. The lines on his brown, emaciated face crinkled into a hideous expression at which Leliana recoiled,

"What use would you have of our belongings? You live in a forest!"

But rather than answer her, he insisted, "I have pretty things to give…for a fee…" the mad man laughed suddenly, harshly, and his voice carried with strange clarity across the camp.

Alistair put a hand to his sword. He had a strange feeling about the _old man—_if old man he truly was. Not many people simply _appeared_ into the middle of an abandoned camp in the middle of a forest in a flaring cloud of black smoke. In fact, he was pretty sure that he had _never_ seen that before. After the initial shock of the sudden explosion and appearance had worn off, there was not much else to feel but suspicion and a growing sense of anxiety about the entire matter. He glanced at Karia who was inching away with apprehension, and Leliana slipping back with a knife in her hand. The man didn't seem to notice their gnawing doubt, for even as they moved, his rants became more and more pronounced. What words he spoke were foreign, yet spoken harshly and with passion. Alistair thought it a simple madman's ravings until something in the Veil began to tug at his Templar awareness,

"He is manipulating the veil," he said aloud, drawing the mad man's attention. The half crazed smile turned vicious and his hoarse laugh reached the young man's ears, grating against his nerves. Slowly, Alistair eased himself around, trying to reach a position where he could protect the elf standing only just a few feet away. Noticing Alistair's motion, he cried out in alarm,

"Stop there! Get back!" his arms waved wildly, "You are too close! Would you disturb a man's home?"

The question threw the man off guard, "What?"

"Step away from there!" the eyes began to blaze, and the croaked voice began to grow in intensity, "That is private!"

Alistair stopped. _Home? What on earth…_ he glanced around, trying to identify some sort of "house" in the vicinity. Patches of overgrown grass and hollow logs scattered the general area, yet no identifiable house could be found.

Save one, hollow tree stump.

The Warden eyed it suspiciously. _The man is definitely mad. If this is the house of which he speaks then…_ he almost began to chuckle, "This is your house?" and Alistair judged by the man's vicious ranting that, yes, indeed, it was. "Well," drawled the young man, "at least you haven't gone out and called us _trespassers. _We're moving up in the world." He stepped away slowly and the vicious rants began to dwindle. _That's odd…_ the young man noted, _I wonder what he's hiding in there._

Everyone within the group was becoming more and more agitated with each prolonged moment spent with the hermit. Karia had nothing—not even the _desire_—to trade with the man; nor did she wish to upset him further. What she wanted were answers…that is, if he could remain calm long enough to answer them. She cast a quick glance at the tense Alistair who was still posed and ready for any sudden attack. Catching his eye, she made a motion for him to move back further, which he obeyed with more than a little hesitance.

_I'll be too far away to do anything if he becomes violent,_ his eyes seemed to say, as he argued silently across the gap.

The elf saw his intentions and shook her head ever so slightly. _No…trust me. I have a plan..._

He frowned. _It had better work or I'm coming over there…_

_It will…_

Karia cleared her throat and the crazed man half turned to look at her, wondering at Alistair's sudden movement elsewhere. He narrowed his eyes at the elf, and his nearly toothless, blackened grin broadened as he spoke cryptically, "Ah, the _Lost One,"_ his wheezing breaths came harshly, _"_It is good that you have come to these woods at _this_ time…"

_Lost One?_

"I have questions for you, sir," she posed, "If you will answer them." When he did not immediately respond, she continued cautiously, "Do you know what has happened to the Dalish and the werewolves within this forest?"

"I do," he cackled.

She waited a few moments but received no further response from him. _Frustrating old man!_ She thought inwardly before asking again, "Can you tell me?"

"No."

At this, Alistair's ire began to rise, "Well, what about Witherfang? Can you tell us about him?"

The old man simply stated again a phrase he had spoken to Morrigan, "What little one can judge by appearance…" and his intermittent rambling began to increase, once more. Karia felt her irritation begin to grow,

"What _can_ you tell us, old man?"

Fire flashed within the dark eyes of the hermit, and his gravelly voice responded, "That which I wish…"

Anger seized her and she stepped closer, alarming the rest of the party by the swiftness of the movement, "So many secrets you have, hermit," her tone became accusatory, "What use are they to you that they are kept so well hidden?" He did not reply, simply acting as though he had heard nothing she said. Karia was furious. _This is a waste of time,_ she thought and began to stride away. Alistair watched her, feeling somewhat astounded, for he had never seen her quite as riled. The fire in her temper—the hidden flame beneath the bushel of her self control—was as unexpected as the hermit's sudden appearance. He was not fully sure what to think of it.

It was irrational; she knew it. Yet she wanted to provoke the hermit into revealing his true nature. Both Morrigan and Alistair were uneasy with his presence, feeling the man's ability to maneuver the Veil. Even so, the elf was determined to make him reveal his power himself. She hoped that by doing so she would be able to learn something. It was obvious that they were receiving no definite verbal answers from him, and there was little else to do. Still, Karia was not leaving without making a statement.

She stepped sideways, circling the man, _making_ him focus his attention upon her. Nervously, Alistair loosened his sword from his scabbard, just in case anything went awry. The man's unpredictability would be a bigger threat than anything else he had a mind to do—if he had enough mind left to think to do it—whatever it was.

Karia stepped closer to the man and the hermit jerked his attention to her, suddenly and fully. They stared at each other long moments before Karia asked in a harsh whisper, "What _pretty things_ have you to trade?"

Mystery gleamed within the depths of his aged eyes, and the grin returned, "I have _life_…a _link."_ His response was enigmatic, as was everything else he had said. But Karia was more persistent—no, _stubborn_—than he was obscure.

"Tell me about the fog up the hill, then. How do we dispel it? How do we get through?"

Harsh breaths became heavier and his eyes clouded over. Almost instantly, his general demeanor grew hazy and Karia backed a step away in surprise. "It seeks to find what once was lost…but life once lost be hard to gain…If ever could its future find…the master would reveal the way."

_Nonsense! _Karia screamed inwardly, _What does it mean? It barely even rhymes!_ She posed the question out loud, but it was if the question had never been asked. The shadow still possessed him and Alistair again noted an even more intense manipulation of the Veil. The Warden fought with himself whether or not he should pull her away but one glance at her determined face told him that interference was unwanted. Her normally guarded expression had turned cold and her next words were curt, "If that is all, then we will take our leave of you."

The hermit barely seemed to notice her walk away. His attention had long since turned from her to a distant spot amidst the trees. In her anger, Karia had not been able to perceive them, yet the ever-perceptive bard found the difference slightly alarming. However, because of the dialogue surrounding her, she had been unable to discern the presence that had so long been a nag in the back of her mind.

Until too late.

Karia was striding purposefully away from the hermit, nearly reaching the stump when suddenly the warning signs began to flash in Leliana's head. _No—no. something's wrong. It's too still. It's too close. It's…_

"Karia—it's a werewolf! Watch out!"

The scream stopped the elf, whose reflexes barely had time to reach for a weapon when suddenly out from behind the dense trees, the predator leapt. Alistair turned and reached for his sword, but he knew he would never make it to the elf in time. Suddenly her world seemed to slow—Karia watched the beast leap, saw the angry glare within its red eyes, saw the claws and the gaping maw reaching for her, and winced because she couldn't stop it.

_Heat—extreme heat—and a sudden burst of energy—a tangible flex in the Veil…_Karia's eyes opened in time to see a blast of flames shoot through the air and slaminto the wolf, causing a miniature explosion that disintegrated the beast, the hollow tree stump, and all of the surrounding grass, knocking the closest party members back and into the grass from the force of the rushing air.

Dazed, Karia sucked air back into her lungs. Her skin tingled from both the magic and the heat. _What happened?_ She coughed, feeling a tightness in her chest from the impact of both the explosion and her fall. The detonation had been so intense and so _fast—_it took her a moment to piece everything together. Her Warden companion rolled over onto his side, spluttering and grasping frantically for his sword. The air was still thick with the rancid smell of burning hair and flesh, mingled with the woodsy scent of burning logs and earth. And yet, as the dust and smoke began to settle, above the crackling and sizzling, one piping voice began to shriek,

"My home! My _home!"_ the hermit screamed and clawed his face in abject horror, "What have you done?" his pitch rose in intensity and volume and, with it, the Veil. The hermit was _changing. _Sten reacted first, drawing his weapon when he realized that something had gone completely amiss. When he swung outward at the hermit, his sword struck an invisible shield and his weapon recoiled with a tremendous jerk out of the qunari warrior's grip. Leliana's arrows burned upon contact as suddenly a storm of fire and ice began swirling from the wizened hands of the mysterious man. Karia scrambled for her own weapon, a dull weight in her stomach settling on the fact that she was no match for the monster. Even the brave Borvo was growling in uncertainty in the shadows, debating on how to attack.

However, Karia charged, her sword thrust forward. An electrical surge of power rushed through the metal tip and up the length of the blade into the hilt with a painful surge, knocking her off of her feet while the sword was thrown several yards away. Bolts of lightning began striking the surrounding area at random intervals, burning the grass and whatever lay nearby. Several of the wooden chests had already been incinerated.

It was chaos.

_Panic, fear…_Karia pushed herself onto her feet, trembling from the electricity coursing through her body. Every movement was painful, and already, Sten was writhing on the ground from having suffered multiple shocks.

"I can't get a shot!" the bard screamed above the din, "My quiver's almost empty!"

The elf shook her head, "Get out of here! Run!" while, she, herself, posed for another attack. She had lost track of Alistair, but had assumed the hermit was responsible for his disappearance. _Steady…_she breathed in, smelling smoke and feeling another tingle of electricity. The hermit no longer resembled a man—his entire body was surrounded with a cloud of power—the Veil twisted in his hands—the same hands which were forming seemingly out of nothing a giant mass of fire, which he was nearly ready to throw. Her heart was beating in her ear, she was so afraid. As she turned to run, a spell of paralysis froze her legs and she felt a giant wave of panic seize her. _She couldn't move_.

Horrified green eyes stared into the eyes of her impending doom and it seemed as if the world, for but a moment, had ceased in its rotations. _Can't run…can't hide…no escape…_If there had been time to scream, she would have. _So close…_she could feel the heat of it begin to scorch her face and her clothes, intense, unyielding, unmerciful. It _burned._

Suddenly, a wave of _magic_ flooded over the area with a white cloud of smoke, expanding like giant waves of the sea across the entire expanse of the camp. It went forth and effortlessly extinguished the funnel of power flooding from the hermit's hands like the flame of a small candle being smothered by a puff of air. The hermit's wretched scream that followed was cut short by a flicker of sunlight glinting off the length of a silver blade slicing through the air between his wizened head and scrawny shoulders. The headless body trembled as the head rolled wretchedly onto the ground .A few short moments later and it collapsed.

The battle was over.

Karia felt her body go limp as the magic holding her prisoner disbanded. She was free. Sinking to her knees, she fought bravely against the onslaught of overwhelming emotions that were bombarding her calm façade. There was silence for a few breathless moments. Karia felt someone approach her, but she did not acknowledge the presence—she did not have to: _Alistair…where did he come from?_

He set his bloody blade on the ground beside the elf. There was little else he could do but simply _be_—and he hoped his presence was enough assurance that everything was all right. The woman was trembling fiercely, yet her face held no expression save the guarded look that she wore as her permanent mask.

Alistair leaned close and softened the tone of his voice, "Are you all right?"

Her jaw worked as she tried to speak; yet, her voice would not come. When she could speak, her words were interrupted by a piercing shriek,

"A mage?" Morrigan cast her staff to the ground, "That…that _imbecile_ was a mage!"

Leliana, who had been trapped in the spell as well, stretched her freed limbs, "What happened?" she questioned, "Everything happened so quickly."

Sten grunted, quivering with anger, "He bound us all with his foul magic…"

Turning to Alistair, Karia asked, "Then…how did you manage to…" she motioned to the gore before her, "…why weren't you bound as well?"

The Templar grimaced as he answered, "Part of my training at the Tower consisted of learning to counteract the mages' magic. By focusing my energy, I can create a field of _cleansing,_ of a sort, to dispel the magical affects of the nearby mages." At Morrigan's scowl, he shrugged, "It affects both friends and foes equally because it simply depletes their mana, making lyrium ineffectual," and at Karia's confused stare, he sighed again, "Lyrium, given at proper intervals, can restore a mage's magic levels, giving them enough energy to complete a spell. When a Templar cleanses an area, then the area is temporarily unserviceable for mages until the effect of the Cleanse has worn off."

She nodded, "So you…_cast_ a spell? Of your own?"

This almost offended him, "Of course not! Templars don't _do_ magic—they _control_ it."

The concept was above her understanding of magic, yet it served as distraction enough in order for her to regain her muddled senses. "But you manipulated the Veil, yes?"

"In a way…yes," he admitted, "It's an energy focus—not a talent of birth. We _don't_ do magic," he insisted.

_It is either magic or it isn't._ She thought stubbornly, glad to be able to focus again. _In any case…what is that?_ She frowned at the dead body lying across the camp and crawled to kneel beside it while Alistair was still explaining. Alarmed, he rushed to stand beside her as she grasped a hold of the hermit's scant clothing, "He's got a pouch inside his shirt. I can see the cords hanging out," she mumbled, tugging at the slender threads. Eventually, they came undone and the pouch slid into her hand. Something solid filled up a significant portion of the inside, and she tested its weight with her palm, "It's heavy," remarked the curious elf as she began fiddling with the small drawstring to open it.

"Be careful," Leliana scolded, snatching the bag from her, "If it's trapped, you had better let me check first."

Alistair harrumphed, "Trapped? How can a small pouch be—"

_Snap! _ - a green cloud of poison suddenly permeated the air around the pouch and the bard dropped it hastily.

"…trapped…" Alistair finished lamely as the women backed away from the infected area, fanning it with their hands.

Leliana glanced back at him as the air began to clear, "The trap was in the drawstring—a small, fragile bubble of arsenic designed to break when the string was pulled. Clever old coot, was he not?"

The Templar glowered and the witch, who had remained relatively quiet during the entire exchange, turned again her wrath upon the man, "Clever, _he_ was. How very _un_clever _you_ were. Thanks to your intervention, you maimed any counterattack I could have provided."

"I saved your _life_," he argued, "Did you not see that blazing funnel of fire and—and whatever it was—swirling around over here?"

She raised her hand, anticipating a small spell; but when no magic came forth, she spat on the ground, "It could have been—"

Karia interrupted, "He told us a riddle—do you remember?—on how to dispel the barriers we passed earlier," completely engrossed in the memory, acting as though she had not heard her companions' quabbling. Quickly, she picked up the pouch from where Leliana had dropped it and tentatively reached in. _This could be the answer—Witherfang could be just around the corner! This must be a key…_ her hand brushed against the contents and she pulled out…

An acorn.

The elf frowned, feeling more frustration brewing inside of her. She turned the seed over in her hand several times, trying to make sense of it. She scratched it, tapped on it, tried untwisting the woody top—seeking for any kind of key to the hermit's riddle. _There has to be more than _this!_ This can't be it!_ The building frustration gave place to anger and she felt tears sting the corner of her eyes,

"He…he trapped a pouch—a _pouch_!—of all things…told a silly riddle…put us through _all _of that _mess_ for _this?_" the infuriated elf held up the acorn in unabashed ferocity. _We all could have died…chasing after an acorn!_ She wanted to throw it—to get it as far away from her as she possibly could. All the pent up fear was beginning to awaken from the stage of shock and the stubborn pride that had held it back for so long and Karia felt the tears begin to sting her eyes. _No…you will _not_ cry about this…_ and fiercely she shoved the little acorn into a pocket, "Let's get out of here," she murmured, striding forward before anyone could see the single tear roll down her cheek.

The remaining members of the party watched her with consternation—all save the mabari who, as loyally as ever, trailed after her, albeit with his stubby tail figuratively tucked between his legs. A few seconds of indecision followed when a low growl arose from one end of the camp. From where he had resolutely been standing, Sten slowly stirred and made to follow, his stony glances the only sign of his deep irritation. It was enough for the bard, who was quick to fall into step behind him, her sunny disposition again breaking through the clouds of the recent disaster she was eagerly abandoning. Her departure left only two: the apostate and the templar.

The witch's icy glares bored into the back of Alistair's head as he watched his fearless leader forge deeper into the forest. His heart quickened when her slim figure disappeared briefly behind the wild ferns and he had to swallow back a cry alarm when she jerked to the side—but only to avoid being struck by a stray bat. His mind screamed for him to follow her, and yet for some strange reason, his entire being was frozen in place. _How does she do it? _He asked himself for the umpteenth time. _Look at her so…unafraid. She can't be so fearless! Can she? She almost _died!_ How can that not affect her? Even a little?_ He watched for a little longer, simply admiring her while his thoughts gently prodded him:_ You should go now…anytime would be a good time…_but when he still didn't respond, his thoughts cried out in desperation, _She's getting away, you idiot..._

That did it.

Without even acknowledging the witch across the camp, he stumbled after the elf, forcing his weary body to cut across the rutted, mossy terrain.

Meanwhile, the despondent elf was silently cursing herself. _That could have been it—we all could have died…because _I _ couldn't control my blasted temper…Why in the Maker's name did it even matter so much who that insane hermit was—or what he was hiding? I should have known to leave it well enough alone. I should have walked away. I failed them. All of them…_

_Like I failed Nelaros…_

She blinked back another onslaught of tears. _I was too slow…I could have saved him. I should have. _She pretended to push back the loose strands of hair from her face to mask the tears she was wiping away. _They shouldn't be led by…by a fugitive. I'm no leader, _she admitted bitterly. _I just want out of this forest! _

Alistair had a hard time catching up with her, for her lithe elfin legs effortlessly spanned the rough terrain as easily as if it were pavement while his own long strides simply entangled him further into hidden nooks and crannies. Even so, he was able to outdistance the bard and the Qunari within a few strides, catching up to the other Grey Warden. Startled, she turned her face aside, as if to scan the forest, stalling for time until she could regain proper control of her emotions. Alistair, nervous as it was, kept his face forward and did not notice her struggle.

_What is he doing?_ She wondered. _Why won't he go away and just leave me alone?_ Casting furtive glances at him, Karia waited impatiently for him to speak. _He seems nervous…but why?_ Again, all at once, her thoughts went spinning out of control. _He knows my ineptitude—perhaps he has come to…to somehow be rid of me?_ Once more she glanced at him. _Why won't he speak?_

Alistair sensed her discomfort. _Oh no…_he thought. _She's already irritated with me. And I haven't even started yet._ For a moment, he panicked. _I'll quit while I'm ahead then—wait, no, you idiot, you're _behind!_ You can't stop; you haven't done anything yet._ And then the eternal question: _What _am_ I doing?_

Clearing his throat, he mentioned casually, "It's easy to get lost in forests like this," he almost chuckled as he remarked, "Don't ever believe them when they tell you that moss grows on the north side of a tree. They lied!" To prove his point, he jerked a thumb at the mass of trees growing to his right, "Look there—now _you _tell _me_ which side's north when it's all covered in that squishy green stuff."

Karia tensed. _He speaks of trees? And…moss?_ _What is he leading up to?_

Alistair smiled down at her, somehow amused by the look of confusion on her face, "What—don't tell me that you've never played in the woods before." He chuckled, waiting for her response.

Silence.

His brows furrowed, "Wait…am I to read from this that you've _never_ played in the woods?"

Karia shook her head slowly, "I grew up in Denerim…we never left the alienage."

"Never sneaked out? Never jumped the gates?" He seemed surprised, and then his casual humor returned, "You put the Chantry to shame," he grinned impishly and explained, "What trouble we would get ourselves into—the boys and I. Used to be, we'd challenge each other during the nights when we knew that no one was watching to do some of the craziest things. One boy was challenged to climb a pine tree—without _any_ clothes on!" the young man smiled broadly, "When the Revered Mother caught him…it was a mess!"

Slowly, some of the tension began to ease and Karia retorted gently, raising an arch brow, "Yes…you don't exactly appear to be the religious sort."

The man snorted, "Hardly!" and then his boyish grin returned, "It used to get so _silent_ in the Chantry…so quiet…it would drive me_ crazy._" And her soft, half-smile encouraged him to continue, "So…there was this one time…" Alistair chuckled, "it had become _so_ silent—after all of us boys were put to bed—I just laid there and I shouted at the top of my lungs until one of the superiors came running in, all up-in-arms thinking the dormitories had been invaded. It was hilarious!" the templar laughingly asked her then, "What about you, then? Have you ever done anything like that?"

Karia was quick to respond, "No," and for a moment, her vague expression convinced Alistair that she had closed the conversation. He nodded quietly, feeling chastened for having disturbed her and continued walking with her in silence. And yet, it was all Karia could do to keep from guffawing at the ridiculousness of the man's story._ So he doesn't hate me? He isn't replacing me?_ The simple trust that he was offering to her was a small strand of thread that began to sew together the wounds she had allowed to fester for far too long. It was a feeling she was unused to—this _healing; _this _trusting._ And yet what an impact it could make! Glancing sidelong at him once more, she saw the frown on his face and couldn't resist a small chuckle,

"No…not _yet,_ anyway…"

And for some reason, all that mattered in that moment was the broad, carefree grin stretching once again across his handsome face…


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Thought I disappeared off of the face of the earth, didn't ya? ;) Not quite. This chapter simply refused to be written. It has been written and rewritten maybe 30 times, and it's still not where I want it to be. Oh well. :) It's Christmas. I figured, of all the days to finish, today should be the day. Thank you all for being so patient with me and for the awesome reviews! None of this would be worth my time if it weren't for you all! I hope you have a wonderful day today, whatever it is you're celebrating: Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, etc. It's all good. I'll try to update again soon, now that this giant roadblock of a chapter has finally been written. :) Rock on, y'all!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**  
_

_Long, deep rumble…but not from the Qunari._ _Sparks of electric light…but not from the witch. Remnants of the early morning storm still brewed in the distance, and the dark forest's sinister inhabitants once more began seeking shelter. _

_All, but one…_

_Bright yellow eyes gleamed in the shadows as the agile body slipped noiselessly between branches of the forest undergrowth. It had been tracking the invaders for some time now. And still their intent seemed unclear. The stench of the Dalish was upon them, mingled with too many undistinguishable traces from their travels, and yet…their manner was not completely hostile. That they had come so far spoke of their great strength—truly they were a force to be reckoned with. _

_Padded feet clawed the tracks and a long nose turned over the ashes from their latest battle. The eyes narrowed…they were _very_ strong indeed. For centuries, the forest had harbored it secrets and had protected them fiercely. Yet these humans stood upon the brink of unveiling another secret. The creature growled in irritation at the receding backs of its quarry._

"_Stop!" _

_The creature dropped low to the ground and waited…they had stopped…and the bright-haired one was searching…she had sensed the presence. Growling deep within its throat, the creature slowly backed away. It would have to be more careful…_

_**~oOo~**_

"Did you hear that?" asked Leliana, her blue eyes squinting in the dying light.

Morrigan smirked, "Is the scary forest too much for you?"

Before the bard could even retort, Karia cut in, "Caution is the best protection we have right now. It's dark, and we're in the heart of the Brecilian, after all, Morrigan. You'd do well to remember that we are no longer in your Wilds."

The witch, suitably chastened, nodded curtly and bit her tongue.

After another moment, when Karia was convinced that there would be no further jibes, she turned again to Leliana, "What did you hear?"

They stood together, looking back from whence they had come and Leliana whispered, "I could have sworn I heard something…growling…but I _see_ absolutely nothing."

"That means nothing," Sten affirmed, "for creatures have the capability to camouflage their appearances here. Whether it may be seen or not does not make it any less a threat."

Shaking her head, the elf sighed, "And it's growing too dark to see. I was hoping we'd have covered more ground, but…" she folded her arms across her chest as a cold wind blew through her uncomfortably wet armor, "We can't keep pressing on in this light."

Alistair took charge of the situation, sensing the distinct need for it, "We'll set up here. It may not be wise to start a fire, though. I saw some leveler ground just a little ways farther. Two can take watch at a time, tonight."

The elf moved to set up what little she could for the meager accommodations. By this time, the night air had taken a harsh, chilling bite to it that clawed through her leather armor and down into her bones. Her teeth were chattering in rhythm with the various forest sounds, and her entire body was shaking from the cold. Small droplets of water began misting around their already soggy camp, soaking into the canvas tents and bedrolls. And although that was bad enough, the icy night air began to blow through the damp blankets, chilling them beyond any hope of warming. All of this combined only helped to make Karia _miserable._

Dinner, unfortunately, consisted of soggy, old biscuits, due to the fact that Alistair did not dare risk a campfire. Tearing into the mushy meal, the companions ate in relative silence. Karia felt the tension in the air, the poignant sting of rejection, as each singularly retreated into his or her own separate world, trying to cope with the chain of recent events. It was a natural reaction—one that the elf girl understood only too well.

Karia's eyes scanned her small group: Leliana sat cross legged atop her cloak, chewing contentedly on a biscuit; Sten stood, leaning stiffly against a tree, ever vigilant, and ever silent; the mabari Borvo was curled up beside her feet, gazing up at her expectantly, to which she responded with a gentle pat; Alistair seemed distracted as he polished his sword, wiping and re-wiping the spots he had only just moments before cleaned; and Morrigan…

…was missing.

_**~oOo~**_

_The threads wrapped around her fingers were taut as she skillfully manipulated their pattern. Weaving them, braiding them, twisting them, she felt the tapestry begin to change, resembling a vastly different form. Subtle changes, yet each one purposeful, eventually began to take physical effect. The concentration required for such a skill was intense, yet because of her vast experience, it seemed merely a momentary hiatus. She knew the pattern that she desired to create; she had only to complete it. Flowing from her fingertips was the essence of her being—but, somehow altered. _It is working!_ She smiled to herself, proud, though she had completed this ritual numberless times before. The witch's eyes gleamed with radiant success as she felt the magic flow through her very being, remodeling the fibers and the cells until at last where a tall woman had been standing now stood…a wolf._

_The yellow eyes of the creature, strange yet familiar, scanned the surroundings with a vastly different perspective. Predatory, now, more than ever, the wolf began to sense the beings surrounding it on all sides. It sensed their fear; it sensed their hunger; it sensed…their anger._

_The long, furry nose twitched in disdain, and the wolf shook the droplets of humidity condensation from its midnight black coat. A low growl escaped its throat as it slinked into the depths of the forest…_

_**~oOo~**_

Alistair hadn't been as focused on his weapon as he pretended to be, though his attention was, indeed, _entirely_ distracted. He had been in such intense concentration on certain thoughts that he hadn't noticed the movement on the other side of the circle of his companions. By the time he had courage enough to glance back up, both Morrigan _and_ Karia had disappeared.

Alarm gripped his heart and shortened his breath. _Where could they have gone?_ After panic, came anger, _I bet that blasted witch stole her away…she's probably going to turn her into a toad, or something!_ His brows furrowed._ Could she really do that? Wait—focus!_

He glanced first at Leliana, but found, to his surprise, that the bard seemed completely unperturbed. It irked him slightly, feeling as though the situation ought to be treated with more importance, before realizing that he was the _only_ one worried about it. It was one thing for Sten and Leliana to be untroubled, but even Borvo—who had been the elf's constant companion—was lying contentedly on the ground, as though nothing at all were amiss. The warrior scowled and gently pushed on the mabari's paw. _If anything were to happen…you'd be the first to know, wouldn't you?_ Alistair thought, staring at the dog. _Still…if anything were to happen, I'd never forgive myself knowing that I trusted in the intuition of a _dog… Shaking his head, Alistair sheathed his weapon and announced, "I'm going to check the perimeter. I'll be back in a moment."

Leliana acknowledged him and watched him go, knowing that he was not simply "checking the perimeter." Glancing at Sten across the way, she smiled to herself. Sullen, stern, he was the epitome of a professional warrior. She knew very little about the Qun, and even less about the Qunari before her. She knew, however, that Karia had already determined to initiate a rapport between him and his new comrades; and in his own little way, Sten was already becoming accustomed to this new chain of command and had adamantly defended her position on more than one occasion. It was a subtle, yet remarkable change. The bard hoped that, with time, the change would become more distinct, more profound, and make a lasting difference in his life—in all of their lives.

_She stares…_the Qunari man grunted, narrowing his lavender eyes at the woman. _The abnormally cheerful one is a thinker. This is most different._ The intentness of her gaze was beginning to disturb him. A few moments would pass and he would avert his gaze elsewhere, only to return it to find her yet staring. It eventually got the better of his temper and he growled at her from across the fire,

"What is it, woman, that you want?"

Leliana grinned at him, and Sten grimaced. _How does her face not weary of such use?_ She was unperturbed from his grouchiness, brushing it aside as though it were nothing. Leaning forward and giving him an intent gaze, the bard posed to him her question.

"You find Ferelden different. I heard you speaking with Karia about it some time ago. But what about the Qun makes it so different from us?"

He growled, "It is difficult to explain. Nor would you understand had I any desire to explain it to you."

"What makes it home?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You miss it terribly don't you?"

The stern eyes narrowed as the words reached through to him. The shield of austerity behind which he had been hiding was raised again as he fought to veil the strange emotion, "The meaning of this question escapes me. I cannot answer."

Leliana crossed her arms and pressed him further, "How hard is that to understand? You do know what it feels to 'miss' something, don't you? That strong desire to be somewhere, or see someone? Don't you feel that way about your home?"

"My sense of duty is stronger than my emotions—these pathetic feelings that seem to guide you humans this way and that. I desire to do what I have been sent to do, and nothing more."

Leliana narrowed her eyes, "You are a stubborn, stubborn man."

"I know."

She grumbled and shook her head, "Impossible…"

"That too."

Throwing her hands up in the air, she gave up the questioning. "Men…" she muttered, and then cast the giant one more pout before she crossed to her bedroll.

_**~oOo~**_

_Snap…snap…snap…_Karia's booted feet on the fallen timbers resounded deafeningly in the silence of the forest's dark night. In her ears, she could hear her heart pounding; she could _feel_ it beating viciously against her chest. Never before had she been in a forest _alone._ So strange were these feral boughs and towers of trunks and leaves compared to the towers and bowers of brick and stone that had been her alienage home for so long. Green eyes darted back and forth as she felt a tug in the air around her. She was close. She could feel the trace of the witch's power humming tangibly in the swirling mists. _What is she up to?_ Karia wondered, feeling more than a little apprehension at the thought of what the answer could possibly be.

Several yards later, Karia stopped abruptly, feeling as though she had run into an invisible barrier. Her chest tightened and a poignant feeling of unexpected uneasiness washed over her. For a full minute, she stood silently, waiting for the feeling to pass. It did not. Morrigan was _very_ close, indeed.

Apprehensively, she forced her reluctant body forward. Further in, her elfin ears began to distinguish a unique sound carried on the air, almost imperceptible above the swirling winds. Karia stopped again, closing her eyes in order to focus in on the sound. Her brows creased in the effort. _What is that?_ She held her breath in her concentration when a sound behind her startled her.

"Well, well, well…" came a cold chuckle, "You're the clever one, aren't you?"

Karia whirled, "Morrigan," she stepped closer. "That was you, I heard, wasn't it?"

The witch narrowed her eyes, "It depends on what you heard."

Crossing her arms, the elf challenged, "I heard magic."

"You can't _hear_ magic_,_" Morrigan argued. "You can only _feel_ it," and the witch stepped closer. "You felt the Veil, didn't you, and you followed the tug."

"The question is," Karia interrupted, "what were you doing?"

A smirk crossed the witch's pale face, "Watch…"

The dark eyes closed and an odd, yet strangely familiar sensation seized the surrounding atmosphere. Karia, eyes wide with fright, backed into a nearby tree, watching with equal parts of amazement and horror as the familiar form of the witch began to transform. The dark hair piled precariously into a bun on her head seemed to move to cover the entirety of her body. Her figure stooped and lowered, shrinking, until at last there stood an animal so unlike the witch woman…save the bright yellow eyes that were so distinctly Morrigan's.

Karia narrowed her eyes as she examined the wolf in front of her, "You're a shape changer as well, then?" The wolf yawned and stretched, its ears twitching in response. Karia shook her head, confused, "How do you do this?"

The Morrigan wolf changed back into Morrigan witch-woman, and she replied lazily, "It is a magic that I possess. I am able to take the form of these animals, yet I also take the personality of them as well. When a wolf, I see as a wolf. I am further able to understand these creatures when I become them."

Thoughtfully, Karia approached and asked, "Are you able to take the form of other people, as well?"

Morrigan harrumphed, "And why would I? I am already a human. Becoming someone else would offer me no other insight into the human mind."

_I'm guessing that's a no…_Karia supposed, "Can you teach others to do this?"

"Yes."

"Would you teach me?"

The witch pondered this for a moment, "I could, in fact, but it would be no use. You are not a mage. One must possess a direct link to the Veil before he is able to manipulate it like this, yet…" the witch paused, contemplatively, "you felt the tug. You felt the Veil's movement, as the Templar feels it. I wonder if you do not already possess some control, or link, to the Veil already. Strange, that it manifests now."

Karia's brows furrowed, "Are you saying that I have magic?"

"It is a possibility. Some magic does not appear until late in life."

"That's impossible. I'm an elf," she argued.

Morrigan rolled her eyes, "Irrelevant. The Dalish have magic—"

"I'm not Dalish."

"But city elves were once Dalish, yes?"

"Enough," Karia shook her head, "I don't follow you, nor do I see how it is relevant if I have magic at all."

"It isn't," Morrigan agreed, "It is simply interesting."

The elf sighed and stared at the witch in silent contemplation, and Morrigan fidgeted under the directness of the gaze. After a moment, Karia spoke, "You were lonely as a child, weren't you." It was a statement, rather than a question, as though Karia already knew the answer. Morrigan's piercing eyes glared at the elf and Karia felt the protective shield behind which the woman hid suddenly rise. They stared at each other for long minutes before the witch was able to speak,

"I…It was the only life I knew," Morrigan answered. "Flemeth and I—that was the only world I knew, save the occasional visit from the Templars and the witch bounty hunters. I did what I could to keep myself entertained. Shape shifting became another textbook for me, another game…"

Karia cocked her head, "You never had a friend?"

The witch stiffened, "I have needed no friendship."

"Perhaps…" the city elf allowed, "but it does not mean that you cannot have one."

"Friend…" the witch mocked the word, "Do you even know the meaning of it?"

Karia smiled, "No, I don't." Surprise shone in the apostate's face as the elf continued, "I don't understand, but I intend to learn."

Morrigan scorned, "What, you never had a friend before?"

"In the Alienage? Of course I had friends," she admitted. "But they were elves. I am no longer in that world. I am a Grey Warden now."

"And so you'll only trust Grey Wardens?"

_Trust…_Karia felt the weight of the word carried upon the witch's tone, _Funny how that word keeps popping up…_

"You're not a Grey Warden, Morrigan."

"But you don't trust me."

Karia shrugged, "Don't I?" and with that she turned to head back to camp. The witch followed in silent reflection.

_**~oOo~**_

Alistair rested his hand on his sword, wanting to feel the security of the steel against his gloved palm. The familiar weight gave him more comfort as he pressed deeper into the Brecilian Forest. _Karia and Morrigan…alone in these god-forsaken woods…_ he felt a chill creep down his spine. _ I swear, if that confounded, beastly witch has turned her into a toad, then I'll…_ then he stopped. _What _will_ I do?_ He chuckled, _I suppose I'll think of something…unique. _And then he sobered. _ Oh, I hope I really don't have to do that…as much as I'd like to. Karia will be fine…right?_

It was difficult to determine whether he was hearing screams or simply the swirling of the wind. The dirt trail he had followed out of camp led him on a circuitous journey through the fearsome forest, and he wondered why he ever left his post at camp, at all. Every step he took only led him further away from his intended quarry and every mounting minute only made him more lost than he already was. _This was the most idiotic thing I've done yet, _he grumped to himself, extricating his foot from some brambles. _If I make it out of this alive, maybe I'll live to learn some better sense. _It was difficult for him to accept the fact that Duncan had not just rescued Karia, but that she had earned her merit as a Grey Warden, and possibly did not need as much protection as he attempted to provide.

An hour had passed since he had sneaked out of camp and still he had not found any sign of Karia or Morrigan. He squinted in the dark, trying to determine from which direction he had come. It was futile, of course, but worth a try, nonetheless. Drawing his sword, he turned around—or what he thought was around, anyway—and headed "back." He was less concerned about Karia at this point and more concerned about his own well-being. Getting lost in the Brecilian Forest was not the most ideal predicament he could have fallen into, and the fact that it was nighttime—in the wind and the wet—did not make matters any better. With all of his training, his sense of direction was well polished, though he had never quite tested its limits, as was demanded of him, currently.

When after another half hour had passed and nothing was looking familiar—not even in the slightest—Alistair stopped again and observed his surroundings, wishing that he had thought to bring a torch or a light of some kind. Any illumination—physical or mental—would have been greatly appreciated. Anything that would have helped him find camp, or Karia, would have been accepted without hesitation. Yet, that was pointless wishing, since, the thought slapped him across the face, _he was lost! _

It probably would have been wisest for him to have stopped for the night. However, he had never been known for being the wisest person, nor did he aspire to be. His inward stubbornness pushed him forward and an acute desire to conquer the blasted problem clouded whatever reason was left in his mind. _Just a little farther, I'm sure, _he tried to assure himself. _I'll walk just a little farther down this hill…_

"Ahh!" he shouted, as suddenly the ground beneath him gave way and he tumbled down a steep ravine and into the moist brambles a hundred or so feet down. Alistair spluttered and wiped the mud from his face, cursing his luck—quite colorfully. Gingerly, he stood and glanced quickly around him, feeling bruised in several unfortunate places. Somewhere between the top and bottom he had lost his sword. This added to his list of worries—especially when a pair of red eyes began glaring at him from across the clearing.

"Drat it all…" he muttered, bringing his fists up in a defensive pose and challenging, "Come on, then, you dirty ba—" but the beast charged before he finished.

A rabid wolf bounded across the forest floor, its giant paws striking the earth with solid thuds as it raced towards Alistair. Leaping, it opened its lathered maw and snapped at the man's neck, but the Templar was ready. He dodged and rolled safely away, quickly jumping to his feet before the wolf had a chance to attack again. _Where is my dratted sword?_ He cursed again as he dodged another attack, knowing that sooner or later dodging would no longer be an option. One more sidestep, one lucky punch, another quick dodge, another roll in the mud—the pattern was tiresome and irritating, only managing to enrage the beast further. It snapped at his leg, and Alistair moved with only inches to spare. Changing tactics, the wolf stopped lunging and began circling its prey, growling and frothing from its black, diseased mouth. One large paw swiped at Alistair's face, and he stepped back, but not before the jagged claws caught his arm. The man grunted and grit his teeth in pain as the claws tore through an opening in his chainmail armor. He could feel the warm blood seeping through the gash and running down his arm. He was running out of time.

The wolf rushed forward, and this time Alistair could not move. His boot had sunk into the mud and before he could free himself, the wolf and tackled him and was snapping viciously at his exposed neck. Alistair grappled with the monster, trying frantically to gain the upper hand, but the beast weighed nearly as much as he did and its heedlessness for its own safety made it even more dangerous. The jaws snapped at his face, and Alistair grasped its head with an iron grip, keeping those horrid jaws at bay. He could feel its claws digging into his armor, sometimes penetrating enough to draw blood. Kicking with all his might, he was able to dislodge the monster for a few moments, giving him enough time to grab a nearby branch for a weapon. He swung the wooden club at the wolf, landing a solid blow on the side of its head. It yelped and, for a moment, was disoriented. Alistair scrambled quickly to his feet, readying himself for another attack. It came only moments afterward, but he was ready. As the wolf leaped up, the heavy branch slammed down, shattering the wolf's skull. One whimper was all it could utter as it toppled on top of Alistair, but it was dead before they hit the ground.

The Warden shoved the monster from off the top of him and pushed himself slowly to his feet. Now that the adrenaline rush was beginning to ease away, he became acutely aware of just how much the wolf had injured him. He took a steadying breath and glanced around one more time for his sword, which was lying conveniently nearby. With an irritated sigh, he muttered, "Figures, I'd find it like this…" He wiped the grime from off the steel blade and sheathed it, a little more forcefully than he had intended. Weariness tugged at him as he ventured forward, and he had to stop a moment to rest against the trunk of an especially large tree.

Allowing himself a heavy sigh, he leaned his back against the tree and slid slowly down to the forest floor, telling himself that he would close his eyes for just a moment. The moment lasted longer than anticipated, and Alistair found himself drifting on the brink of consciousness, not quite able to pull himself back into wakefulness. Some minutes later, he felt something brushing against his hair, and he swatted at it, lazily, sinking back into the in-between lucidness of sleep and awareness. The feeling came again, and this time, was enough for him to open his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he was surprised to see leaves dangling in front of him. Confused, he looked up—way up—into the unblinking eyes of a sylvan.

Startled, and now fully awake, Alistair clutched his sword, not daring to move lest he anger the monster. They stared at each other for some moments, neither moving a muscle, until after a while, Alistair saw the tree's mouth move and a hollow, strange voice wafted down to the Warden,

"Stranger to this forest, thee. Perhaps thou couldest help me?"

Alistair stared in immense awe, and his mouth dropped open, utterly speechless: _Dear God! It was a talking tree!_


End file.
